


Her

by lalakate



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hood-Mills Family, Post-Season/Series 04 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-25 13:54:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 41,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13836150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalakate/pseuds/lalakate
Summary: A series of drabbles that explore life for the Hood-Mills family after Zelena dies, leaving her and Robin's daughter to be raised by Robin and Regina.*The Merida in this story was named so before the character of the same name was introduced in canon. Merida Locksley is an original character who resides in the verse.





	1. Her

It's the sniffling that alerts her that something is amiss, and she gazes across the back yard, attempting to locate the source of the sound.

There. Behind the rose bushes, hunched on the ground. Pink dress, ruffled socks now caked with dirt, face buried within arms that hug her knees, hair the color of a sunset framing her small body. She makes her way in the girl's direction, sitting down in the grass beside her as she collects this child she never expected to her chest. Tears seep through her blouse, and she kisses the top of her head, inhaling the scent of lavender that has somehow comforted this child since the day they brought her home.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Regina questions, wincing at the sobs emanating from a frame too small to absorb them. "Why are you out here all by yourself?"

She senses the girl wipe her nose on her sleeve before eyes identical to father's gaze back at her, blue orbs red from weeping, pale cheeks splotched and damp.

"I'm scared," she whispers over her quivering chin, the last word dissolving into a sniff and a hiccup.

"Of what?" Regina questions, pulling her closer into her side. "What frightened you so badly?"

Blue eyes fall to the grass, and she bites her bottom lip, yet another gesture so mindful of the man who gave her life.

"Me," the girl admits, her reply barely audible. "I'm afraid of me."

Sharp pain nearly knocks her over, and she turns her child to face her directly, tilting her chin upwards until their eyes finally lock.

"And why, Merida Locksley, would you be afraid of yourself?"

Merida's brow scrunches together forming a pout all too reminiscent of the Mills women for Regina's liking.

"You know why, Mommy," she sighs just as she wipes her nose yet again. "Because of…because of her."

"You mean Zelena?"

It always strikes her when Merida refuses to speak her biological mother's name, and she watches as the girls face contorts in disgust.

"Yeah," Merida whispers. "What if I'm just like her?"

"You're not," Regina assures her, wiping her cheek with the pad of her thumb. "You're just like you and only you, sweetheart. I've told you this before."

"But what if I'm no good?" Merida asks. "What if I'd rather be like you? Can't you make my hair black so we match?"

Regina gathers the long waves into her hand, running her fingers through silken fire.

"You're very good," Regina states, her eyes set and direct. "Good just the way you are. And why would I change you? You have the most beautiful hair I've ever seen. I wish mine were more like it."

The girl sniffles and nearly laughs, staring back at her mother in disbelief.

"No you don't," Merida retorts. "Yours is perfect. Just like Roland's. Mine's just all messed up. Like hers."

"Yours is the color of wildflowers," Regina states, twisting a wild lock around her finger. "And of autumn leaves. And of Auntie Mal's cat you love so much."

Pink lips twitch upwards at this, and the girl takes in a fortifying breath.

"I just," she begins, sitting up as tall as her little body will let her. "I just don't want to hurt people like she did."

"What have I told you, sweetheart?" Regina asks, cupping her face gently. "At least one hundred times?" Merida stares back at her, her eyes dropping to the white trim of her dress just before she answers.

"Evil isn't born," she mutters under her breath. "It's made."

"Precisely," Regina assures her. "I know from experience. Trust me." She pauses, touching her forehead to Merida's until the child actually smiles. "Besides, your father and I love you to the moon and back. That's never going to change."

Merida pulls back at this, her expression suddenly wary.

"But it might," the child states. "Because of her."

"Merida, I've already told you…"

"No," the girl cuts in. "Not her… _her_."

A small hand comes to rest on her stomach, and Regina stares back at the child in wonder, realization taking root one inch at a time. She hasn't even shared her suspicion with Robin, terrified it might prove unfounded after all of the false hopes they've experienced over the years. She shivers from top to bottom, shaking her head without thinking.

"Who?" she whispers, watching as Merida rolls her eyes.

"The baby. My little sister. What if you love her more?"

She swallows hard, her own hand joining her daughter's just above where new life grows.

"I mean, she's really yours," Merida continues. "And she'll be like you. But I'm just, I'm just…"

"My daughter," Regina interrupts, her tone unyielding. "By choice. Never forget that, Merida Grace. I chose to be your mother. I didn't have to be—I wanted to be."

"But when you have another daughter…"

"No buts," Regina cuts in, stroking the girl's long locks. "I didn't give birth to Henry or Roland, but they are both my sons, and I won't love them any less when…"

She pauses, her breath hitching in her throat.

"When this baby is born." Merida stares back at her wordlessly as she worries her bottom lip yet again. "How did you know, by the way?" Regina asks her. "I haven't said anything about her to anyone."

Little shoulders lift as eyes round in her direction.

"I just feel her," the girl explains, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. "Don't you?"

She does, she realizes, a stirring, a lightness, a spark of energy that had not existed until just weeks ago. Her own eyes well up, and she hugs the girl to her, whispering a silent prayer that her own two daughters can form a bond very different than one that existed out of spite.

"How does she feel to you?" Regina questions, curious and half-terrified at what the child's response will be. Merida crinkles her nose just before she smiles, reaching out to touch her mother's face.

"Beautiful," she whispers, effectively pulling the tears from Regina's eyes. She pulls Merida up into her lap, kissing mussed curls, allowing her tears to fall into the girl's hair.

"Just like her sister, then," Regina breathes, reveling the warmth that spreads through her, marveling at this second chance given to a different set of Mills women, hoping to God she can get it right.


	2. Her Fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regina and Robin eavesdrop on a conversation between Merida and her brothers.

He finds her outside of Roland's room, her ear practically pressed to the door, her stance tense and rigid.

"What—"

Regina silences him with a finger to his lips, grabbing his arm to bring him closer to her.

"Shhhh," she instructs without a sound, pointing to the door, her eyes wide and concerned. It's then he hears Henry's muffled voice followed by a deep cough from Roland, the timbre still too wet for his liking. The boy has been fighting bronchitis for the past four days, and he wonders if they should take him back to the doctor.

"Tha…not true, Merida," Henry states, and Robin leans in closer, suddenly distracted as he tries to make out conversation funneled through wood.

"But she…killed your dad," Merida replies, some of her words lost in the journey. "And…mom, Roland."

"Oh my God," Robin breathes, and Regina nods back at him, her grip on his arm all the tighter.

"Doesn't that make you two hate me?"

The girl's words are loud enough to travel straight to his ears and into his heart, and he clutches Regina's waist, feeling a deep pain always reserved for his youngest child, one conceived under the worst possible circumstances, circumstances he's tried to protect her from since she drew her first breath.

There's some sort of movement, and he hears Merida crying. His hand reaches for the door knob instinctively, but Regina pulls him back, beseeching him to wait with her in silence.

"Don't cry," Henry insists, and the boy must be sitting closer to the door now, for his words are much easier to make out. "We don't hate you. You're our little sister, and we love you with all of our hearts."

"But she…she," Merida sobs, and he breathes in as Regina leans into him. "She did terrible things. She took away your parents."

"She did," Roland answers before launching into a small coughing fit. Regina tenses at the sound, and he knows she worries over him every bit as much as he does, a mother to all three of their children to the core of her being. "But you didn't."

There's more crying, and he's certain he hears Henry murmuring to the girl, making him wonder if she's crawled up into her oldest brother's lap as she's inclined to do. Merida's adoration of Henry nearly borders on hero-worship, and Robin feels tears pricking the rims of his eyes when he considers what a wonderful impact his step-son has had on their daughter.

"But…I…look…like her," Merida sputters, and Roland coughs again, clearing his throat as feet move across the floor.

"No you don't," Roland replies. He must be sitting next to Henry and Merida now, Robin surmises, judging from the volume of his voice. "Trust me. I remember what Zelena looked like, and you're a lot prettier. Not nearly as scary, either."

He can't help but smile at that, but he hears Regina sniff. His fingers reach for her cheek automatically, and she turns to look at him, her eyes as full as his heart.

"Oh my God," she whispers, and he cradles her head to his shoulder, feeling her sentiments to his toes.

"You look like yourself," Henry adds. "Just like I look like me, and Roland looks like Roland."

"Roland looks like Mommy," Merida insists, and both boys laugh before Roland launches yet again into a round of hacking coughs.

"I know," Roland manages. "Not sure how that happened."

Robin chuckles into her hair, and she leans back to kiss his cheek, relaxing into his hold one muscle at a time.

"We're a different kind of family, Merida," Henry continues. "But that's alright. We're family. Our parents love us just the way we are. What happened in the past really doesn't matter anymore, you know. Our mom made some bad decisions a long time ago, but she decided to change her life for the better, and look at what has happened."

He feels her breath catch in her chest, and he kisses her temple, losing his fingers in dark satin locks that ensnared him at first glance.

"Mommy is good," Merida states, and he's beaming now, wrapping his arms around her waist completely, holding her as close as he can.

"So is Papa," Roland adds. "Even though he has messed up pretty badly sometimes."

Regina chuckles, prompting him to bite his lower lip as he shrugs in acknowledgement. Roland's words are an understatement, a fact he lives with on a daily basis, counting himself the luckiest of all men that this woman in his arms is actually here with him, raising children he sired with others with the same passion as if she'd carried them in her womb.

God, he doesn't deserve her.

"They're heroes," Henry says. "Both of them. And we can be, too, all three of us. But it's up to us, you know. Every day. We have to make our own decisions and be the best people we can be, regardless of whose blood we have in our bodies. Remember, my grandpa is the Dark One."

He hears a soft, girlish giggle, and his shoulders relax a notch or two.

"And my uncle is the Sheriff of Nottingham," Roland adds. "He was a real jerk."

"But what about the new baby?" Merida asks. Regina tenses in his arms, and he stands taller, wondering what sort of turn this conversation has just taken.

"What new baby?" Henry asks.

"What new baby?" Robin repeats into his wife's ear.

"Our baby sister," Merida explains. "The one in mommy's tummy. Didn't you know?"

One hand splays over her abdomen instinctively, and he turns her face towards his with the other, his heart beating so hard it's a wonder they children can't hear it in the other room. He can barely breathe as dark eyes look back at him in wonder, a solitary tear cascading down marble skin as she nods in breathless confirmation.

"Mom's pregnant?" Roland cries, coughing once for emphasis.

"You're pregnant?" he whispers, his legs now as sturdy as toothpicks, his heart swelling against the confines of his ribs.

"Yes," Merida answers. "I can't believe you guy didn't know!"

"Yes," Regina breathes, and he pulls her as close as he can, absorbing this miracle into his soul, feeling like the least deserving man on the planet, but one who will never take for granted what he's been given.

"H-how?" he stammers, shaking his head. "I thought, I mean…"

"I know," she returns. "Believe me. I know. I'm as stunned as you are."

He kisses her then—he can't help it, full and passionate, open-mouthed and overwhelmed. Mouths cling to each other until the door behind them opens, three sets of eyes staring at them in a wordless gape.

"You're pregnant?" Henry questions, and Robin can't tell which of the two boys appears most shocked.

"I am," Regina answers, and they're flogged by their children, creating an odd sort of five-person heap in the hallway.

"And it's a sister," Merida states just before Robin lifts her up into his arms, kissing a freckled cheek soundly, happy to see that the girl's eyes are no longer wet, even if they are still rimmed with red. "Can you love another girl, Daddy?"

He stops short at this, and Regina slides in beside him, taking one of Merida's hands in her own, giving the child a look that makes him wonder if the two of them have already had a similar conversation.

"Of course, I can," he answers, stifling a well of new tears threatening to fall with every breath. "I have the best girls in the world, you know."

The child's lower lip sticks out, and he wonders what is playing out in that complex little mind of hers.

"And if she looks like Mommy?" Merida questions. "Will you love her more?"

The hall is silent then, even Roland's cough subdued by the seriousness of her question.

"More than you?" Robin returns. "No. More than your mommy? Never. More than Roland or Henry? Not at all." He breathes in deeply, staring at each member of his family in a moment that feels almost surreal. "More than my own life? Yes. Just as I love you, Merida Grace," he assures her, nudging her nose with his own. "Just as I love each and every one of you. You're my life, my heart, my…"

He stops, his throat thickened past the point of speech, and his tears fall unhindered, wetting his face, filling his spirit. Small and large hands embrace him from all directions, the scents of his sons mingling with those of his wife and daughter in a perfect menagerie that transcends the realm of humanity.

"My family," he finishes as they stand together united, Mills and Locksley, blood and bone. "My perfect, perfect family."


	3. Their Mother

She descends the staircase one step at a time, the sounds of scurrying feet and loud whispers making her smile to herself even as her stomach does an odd sort of flip.

"Calm down," she whispers to the child growing inside. "I'll feed you in a few minutes."

Food is the only thing that settles her stomach these days, a fact which surprised her at first but one her husband exploits to its fullest by cooking for her whenever he can. Not that she minds. The only kitchen appliance Robin cannot seem to master is the toaster of all things, and she's more than happy to put her feet up at the end of a long day and let him slave over the stove or grill.

The mingled scents of coffee and bacon tickle her nose and palate, making her salivate and feel light-headed at the same time, and she wonders what else he's concocted with the help of their ever-expanding tribe. She just hopes he allowed Henry to make the toast.

"She's coming," Roland cries, and she pauses at the base of the steps, wondering what all of the commotion is about. Her hand moves instinctively to the still flat plane of her stomach, and she rights her equilibrium before taking another step towards the kitchen.

"Whew," she breathes. "You're insistent this morning, aren't you?" She pauses one final time, making certain she's not going to throw up all over the floor. Her nausea passes, and she breathes in slowly, finally rounding the corner, her eyes widening just so.

It's Mother's Day. How could she have forgotten that it's Mother's Day?

They're standing in line waiting for her, clad in a pink nightgown, flannel boxers and t-shirts, brown, black and red hair sticking up every which way, each of her children holding a flower. And he's right there beside them, holding two blossoms in his hand, bare chested and bare footed, the look of adoration in his eyes nearly sucking the air from her lungs.

"Happy Mother's Day!" the kids cry simultaneously, Merida bobbing up and down in her obvious excitement, only adding to the wildness of her uncombed curls.

"What's all this?" she questions as the boys each take an arm and escort her to the table.

"What do you think it is?" Henry tosses back, and she notices just how tall he is yet again, her little prince now towering over her as she once did him. "Breakfast, of course."

Robin sets a mug of coffee down in front of her, the only cup of real coffee she's allowed for the day, and she inhales the aroma as if it were magical. The heat on her lips settles her stomach, and she leans back, relishing the dark Sumatran overtones sliding over her tongue just as something starts to burn.

"Damn," Robin curses, turning on his heels in a flash. "The toast."

"Ahhhhh," Merida exclaims. "Daddy said damn."

"Papa always says damn," Roland adds, earning himself a pointed look from his mother. "What? At least he doesn't say sh…"

"Roland!" his father cries out, nearly dropping a charred piece of bread as he passes it from hand to hand, tossing it into the sink with a grunt of relief. "Watch your mouth, and apologize to your mother."

"Sorry, Mom," the boy mumbles, his flower somehow wilting along with his expression.

"It's alright, Roland" Regina assures him, gathering him into her arms carefully, ever watchful of the fragile stem in his hand.

"Damned toaster," Robin utters under his breath, and she clears her throat loudly, receiving an apologetic shrug as he begins to scrape the toast. She catches Henry's gaze and motions towards the bread.

"Hey, Robin," he calls out with a grin. "Can I help with that?"

The burnt offerings are pitched into the trash, and Roland places a plate full of scrambled eggs, bacon and mixed berries in front of her. She inhales the aroma, fighting back the urge to shovel a forkful of eggs straight into her mouth just as Merida unfurls a red cloth napkin and lays it tentatively in her lap one-handed.

"Thank you," Regina states, catching the napkin just before it slides off of her legs onto the floor. The children have reassembled themselves into a line, and the toaster clicks in the background as Robin raises an eyebrow in Henry's direction.

"Mom," he begins, stepping forward with his flower. "We each picked a flower for you this Mother's Day, one we felt best represented just what makes you so special to us." Her heart melts at his gaze, the beginnings of tears pushing against her eyelids.

Damn hormones.

"I selected this pink carnation," her oldest son begins. "Not because it's pink, because I know it's not your exactly your color, but because it symbolizes a mother's undying love." Her throat thickens to the point she can barely swallow, and she inhales through her nose, filling her lungs as best she can. "You adopted me when I had nobody else and made me your son, and you've given me a home, more love than I could ever ask for, and have taught me what true heroism is all about. You're the mother who found me, and I love you."

Her eyes are bleary, and she blinks repeatedly, a tear finally breaking free as Henry walks forward and deposits his carnation into a curved vase filled with water. He leans down and hugs her, kissing her cheek, making her quiver with emotions she wasn't expecting so early in the morning.

Roland then steps forward, his curls that need trimming falling haphazardly into his eyes.

"I picked a daffodil," the boy expounds. "Because it's supposed to represent chivalry and new beginnings." He looks to his father to make certain he's said it correctly, receiving a nod in affirmation. "You're the mama I never had, and…"

He stops, his eyes falling to the floor.

"You helped me get over my nightmares."

She inhales sharply, remembering long nights of holding him close in the darkness, small fingers fisted into her pajama top, tears painting her chest over images that were hazy yet terrifying, residual night terrors no memory potion could seem to erase. Those nights she stayed with him until he slept soundly, crying with him in the silence, caressing his hair until his breathing steadied and his body surrendered to the realm of rest, often falling asleep beside him until Robin would sometimes carry her to their bed.

"Anyway," he continues after clearing his throat. "You're brave and strong, and you saved me from monsters. You're the mother who protects me."

She's trembling when he comes to hug her, placing the daffodil in the vase before his arms wrap snugly around her neck. She cries into his curls, kissing his forehead, cupping his face.

"You're my brave knight, Roland," she assures him, and he tosses her those dimples that won her over when he stood but knee-high, dimples that match those beaming back at her from the man who gave him life. "The bravest I've ever known."

He's smiling as he steps back from her, dark eyes nearly invisible under his mass of tousled hair, and she hears her husband sniff in the background. Before she can say anything else, red curls skip her way, wild and unbound, just like the spirit of the precious sprite standing in front of her holding a Tiger Lilly.

"Mommy," Merida begins before biting her lower lip. "I picked an orange flower with black spots because it's us…you and me. I'm the orange, and you're the black, but we still go together."

That does it. She can't breathe steadily, her air coming in small gulps and sniffs as the lily is pressed into her palm.

"I picked it out myself," the girl states proudly, her little body twisting from side to side. "And Daddy said it was perfect, 'cause you're the mommy who chose me."

She sets the lily in the vase with trembling fingers before gathering her daughter up in her arms, the child climbing up her lap and pressing her cheek into her chest.

"I love it, Merida," she whispers into her hair. "It's perfect." She's a blubbering mess now—God, it's a good thing she didn't bother to put on any make-up, or else she'd look terrifying. Then he's in front of her, placing a palm on Merida's back as he extends a lilac in her direction.

"From you?" she questions, stifling an emotional hic-up that makes him grin.

"No," he shrugs as he nips his bottom lip. "This one is from the baby."

Merida draws back at this and lays her hands on Regina's stomach.

"She's a bit young to be picking flowers, don't you think?" Regina quips, wiping an eye with the back of her hand.

"The children helped her," Robin states. "They have excellent taste, you see."

She smiles as another tear slides down her cheek.

"I'm their mother. What did you expect?"

He chuckles as he sets the lilac blossom into the vase with the others, its heady fragrance tickling her nose from her seat.

"The lilac represents new love," he explains, running a lock of her hair through his fingers. "And that's what you're carrying inside of you—a new life for all of us to love, and one who will love you just as fiercely as your other children do."

Damn him, he's making her cry again, and just as she'd managed to compose herself somewhat. Merida's hands rub just above her naval, tickling just a bit, and she touches her forehead to her daughter's.

"She likes purple," the girl states with conviction. "I think it will be her favorite color. That's what I told Daddy when we were looking for flowers, and we all chose the lilacs."

Her eyes round as Robin nods back in affirmation, and she spies Henry grinning at his little sister, catching her big baby blues and making her smile.

"You can already sense that?" Regina questions, her mind still reeling from this instant connection that seems to have magically formed between her girls.

"Um-hm," Merida nods. "I know a lot about her. She loves it when you drink coffee, she likes it when Daddy kisses you, and she really likes it when you sing to us, especially that Once Upon a Time and Long Ago song."

Robin shakes his head in wonder as her own mouth falls open, the magnitude of what Merida simply views as fact absolutely staggering to her. She picks up her mug and sips the rich brew, feeling a sense of contentment radiate from the inside out.

"I like it when you sing, too," Roland confesses, and she reaches an arm out to him as she sets her mug back on the table, remembering many a night he would ask her to sing him to sleep.

"So do I."

Henry smiles at his admission before setting down a piece of perfectly browned toast on her plate, avoiding Robin's gaze as he places the blackberry preserves in front of her.

"It's unanimous, then," Robin manages, obviously just as affected by all of this as she is. "You should sing more often."

He then brings over a stunning white orchid in its own planter, setting it right beside her coffee, capturing her full attention in a flash.

"This one is from me," he states, laying a hand on her shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. "According to our extensive research," he pauses, gazing around at his children. "The Chinese believe that the orchid represents exotic beauty, an attribute you display to perfection."

Her face heats at the intensity of his gaze, and she somehow manages to feel beautiful sitting here in her purple pajamas, hair untouched, face bare of make-up, cheeks pink and splotchy, the tip of her nose undoubtedly red and swollen.

"It also means the mother of many children," he adds, pausing to let that phrase take root. Her breath hitches and her mind spins, remembering all too vividly the black void carved into her heart after she sealed her own womb.

"The mother of many children," she echoes. "There was a time I didn't think that would ever be possible."

He looks into her, straight through any pretense to her core.

"Yet here you are—the mother of four." He pauses, blinking repeatedly and clearing his throat. "The most incredible mother and wife in any realm."

She stares back at him, marveling at this life they've created, a life built from the ashes of heartache and loss, a family bound by forces more powerful than blood or magic.

"Henry," she begins, steadying her voice as best she can. "You're the child who always believed in me. I wouldn't be here like this today if I hadn't become your mother."

The boy's lips press together as he gazes back at his mother, emotions too deep for mere speech passing wordlessly between them.

"And Roland," she continues, squeezing her younger son's hand. "You're the child who has always trusted me, who shares his heart so openly and loves to make me laugh."

He blushes and grins, so like his father in more ways than she can count.

"My Merida," she whispers, nose to nose with a face full of freckles. "You're the child who feels so deeply and shares happiness with everyone you meet. I can't imagine my life without you, little one, my child of joy and strength."

The girl leans forward and rubs her nose against Regina's as they've done since she was a toddler, an expression of a need to give and receive affection physically, a trait inherited from a man of unfathomable tenderness who is gazing at the two of them in silence.

"And this baby…"

Damn it, she's starting to sputter, to weep, and she's enveloped into her husband's embrace, her daughter clinging to her as well as her son's stand close by.

"Our miracle," he finishes for her. She nods and wipes her face, knowing this is a child of inner-healing, of leaving her past in her past forever, of looking forward into a future she still can't believe.

"Our miracle," she breathes, gazing in speechless wonder at the mixed bouquet that is her family.


	4. Her Daddy

He holds her closer as the coughs wrack her body, small muscles clenching tight against him, the heat of her skin making him shudder to the bone.

"Mommy," she pleads, her tone so weak and pitiful it hurts him to hear her speak.

"Shhh, little dove," he whispers, sensing her small whimper as her arms begin to slack. "Daddy's got you. Just rest, alright?"

It's been torture, keeping mother and daughter separated through this ordeal, but Merida's pneumonia could put Regina and the baby at risk. So he'd insisted, and she'd given in, balking only at his suggestion that perhaps she go stay with the Charmings for a couple of days.

There was no way in hell she would leave her home when one of her children was sick, she informed him promptly, so he could kindly just toss that suggestion out the window and never mention it again.

He hadn't. But God, this hasn't been easy.

Roland's bronchitis had gone far deeper in his little sister, and they'd sought the doctor yesterday when her fever had spiked to 104. He'd enlisted Henry's aid to keep his mother from trying to carry the girl to the car herself, reminding her that she needed to stay home and take care of their other daughter, and to please trust him to take care of the one now buckled into her car seat, her coughs making him wince, her body limp and pale.

It had been next to impossible, but he and Henry had finally convinced her.

Merida's now on an antibiotic and a regular regiment of Children's Ibuprofen and Tylenol, but she's weak and still feverish, sucking on popsicles when prompted, sleeping through Scooby-Doo under two blankets on the couch. He'd picked her up gently and carried her to her bedroom, kissing her warm forehead, wondering just when this damned fever would finally break.

"Daddy."

He hugs her closer as she sinks into his chest, and he aches all over, feeling so helpless, so damned helpless that he cannot do anything to help his baby girl recover any faster. She coughs again, and he wraps her lilac blanket around her, pressing a glass of water to her lips, exhaling in relief when she drinks.

"I'm here, sweetheart," he assures her, cradling her face in his palm. "I'm right here."

"Where's Mommy?"

He clears his throat, knowing just how much his daughter longs for her mother right now.

"She's taking care of Roland at the moment," he answers. "But she'll come to check on you soon."

Merida nods and curls into a little ball on his lap, and he leans back into the glider in her bedroom, rubbing her arms through the soft cotton. He begins to hum a melody he hasn't thought of in years, one he remembers his mother singing to him when he'd nearly died from diphtheria as a boy. He'd survived, shaking the illness against all odds and making a full recovery.

His baby sister hadn't been so lucky. Neither had nearly one third of the children from their village.

Thank God for this world's medical breakthroughs, he thinks to himself not for the first time, remembering just how small Merida had been when she'd been born two months premature, how she'd been hooked up to machines that had helped her breathe, how he and Regina had taken turns keeping a constant vigil by her small crib, touching her, allowing the girl to grasp their fingers, watching for tiny markers of health and growth that began to shine through after what seemed an insurmountable wait.

He wonders if he'd hummed this song to her then without realizing it. A part of him wishes he could remember for certain. The other part of him is thankful that difficult time has blurred in his mind.

"Just rest, my sweet girl," he croons, his own shoulders releasing as her breath evens out in sleep, the constant rise and fall of her chest a patch of calm and beauty. "Daddy's here. And I've got you."

Her fever finally breaks the next morning, and the next day her appetite reappears in little bits and pieces, popsicles and toast, crackers and chicken noodle soup, ramen noodles and banana slices returning strength to her body one nibble at a time. Her cough still sounds terrible, but she has color in her cheeks again, and not the flush of fever, thank God, but the pinkness of health.

She's her mother's constant shadow, hovering near her always without getting too close, and he spots a measure of fear in her eyes when Regina attempts to gather her up in her arms before she wriggles out and pads up the stairs to her bedroom, closing her door to the world around her.

"She's angry with me," Regina reasons, her shoulders sagging in defeat. "I wasn't there for her when she needed me most."

He wraps his arms around her from behind, kissing just behind her ear as his hands splay across her stomach.

"None of that," he instructs softly, nuzzling into her hair. "You were here for her—you wouldn't leave the house, for God's sake."

"But I didn't hold her," Regina rebuffs. "Or sing to her, or brush her hair just the way she likes…"

"Because you were taking care of the baby," he cuts in, turning her in his arms until they are eye to eye. "You were being a mother to both of our daughters, not just one."

She shakes her head, the resistance in her stance palpable.

"Robin," she begins, her words sticking to her throat. "Zelena became the way she was because my mother discarded her and kept me. Cora played favorites, and her choices destroyed any chance I had of actually having a relationship with my sister." She pauses, her gaze dropping to the floor. "I won't ever have Merida question my feelings for her. I can't let her believe that this baby is any more important to me than she is simply because she grew in another womb."

He strokes her cheek, her fears radiating straight to his heart.

"She doesn't," he insists. "And she won't."

"How can you be so sure?" Regina questions, looking as vulnerable as he's ever seen her. "She's already scared that I'll love this baby more than I love her, and no matter how many times I tell her that I won't, I know she's still frightened."

"I'm sure because you're not your mother," he states, cupping her face with both hands. "And you won't let Merida believe that because it's simply not true. It's never been true. God, Regina, you've loved that little girl as much as I have since the moment you laid eyes on her, and Merida knows that. Deep inside, she knows that, and if she's angry now, she'll get over it quickly. Trust me on this."

She hangs her head and inhales, wiping the corner of her eye.

"I hope so," she whispers. "I don't ever want any of my children to question how much I love them." He hugs her close, breathing in the soft lavender of her hair as her arms wrap around his torso. "Because I do. I love each and every one of them so much it hurts."

"I love you, too, Mommy."

The voice takes them both by surprise, and they release each other, turning to find Merida standing in the corner in her pink striped pajamas, her hair wild and askew, her feet bare. Regina kneels down to her level, and the girl is in her arms, mother and daughter caught up in an embrace of sniffles and whispered endearments that gets to him on the deepest level.

"I'm not mad at you," Merida clarifies, her tone still ragged and hoarse. "I'm just afraid I can still make you sick, and I don't want…"

She stops, her lower lip sticking out.

"I don't want to hurt you or my little sister-like she did."

Regina kisses her temple, a mother's tears now flowing freely down her cheeks as she shakes her head repeatedly.

"You can't make me sick anymore, sweetheart," Regina informs her. "You've been on your antibiotic long enough, so you're not contagious anymore. And remember—you are not Zelena, and you never have been."

The child stares at her feet before looking back to her mother.

"Just as you are not Cora," Robin reminds her softly, catching her smile as she looks back at him over her shoulder. He takes two steps in their direction, touching Merida's tangled curls as he looks at his wife. "I told you she would understand. She's smart, this daughter of ours. Smart like her mother."

His gaze is direct so there's no question as to which mother he means, for in his mind, his daughter has only ever had one mother—the one in whose arms she now resides, the one who has raised her and cared for her with the same fervor she has their two sons. The woman to whom biology has always been trivial when it comes to parenting. 

God, he loves his wife.

Regina rocks her daughter to sleep that night, and he smiles as she finally slides into bed beside him, peaceful in a manner she hasn't been since Merida got sick. He extends his arm, and she snuggles into his chest, kissing the spot above his heart as she is prone to do.

"You need to sleep," he informs her, feeling her deep chuckle as she nods in agreement.

"You'll get no argument from me," she states, burying herself under the covers and up against his body.

"Shit," he exclaims under his breath, nearly jumping off the mattress. "Did you stick your feet in the freezer before you came to bed?"

"Since when is the Prince of Thieves bothered by a little bit of cold?" she muses, burrowing her toes even further into the crooks of his legs, making him hiss in the process.

"If this is your definition of a little bit of cold, you've obviously been exposed to too many fireballs," he retorts, readjusting to get himself into as comfortable a position as he can manage.

"It's the hormones," she asserts, raising up to look him in the eye. "My feet freeze while the rest of me is burning up. So technically, it's your fault. You're the one who got me into this mess."

She rubs her stomach as he shakes his head, a sigh of amusement escaping his lips.

"Wouldn't be the first time, would it?"

She gazes back to him, her brows creasing in a question as he strokes her lower lip with the pad of his finger.

"I've drawn you into more than one messy situation, Regina," he continues, looking down at her wedding ring. "Yet you've stuck with me through them all. Sometimes I don't know what you see in me or why you stay."

She tosses him a sideways smile.

"I think that sentiment goes both ways," she returns, tracing a pattern on his chest. "And besides, if you hadn't pulled me along into those situations, I wouldn't have three of my children." They pause and gaze into each other as his hand makes its way to her stomach. "And that would be unacceptable."

He kisses her, open and soft, mouths parting and tasting the remnants of the day.

"They're worth it, aren't they?" he questions as they draw back enough to breathe. "Every mess, every heart-ache…"

"Every sleepless night," she continues. "Every tear, every argument, every trip to the toilet." She pauses, her dark eyes so full they're nearly his undoing. "Yes—they're worth everything."

Foreheads touch in affirmation.

"As are you," he breathes, kissing her lips, reveling in the feel of her, the joy of her, the unfathomable beauty that is his wife. She rests her head on top of him, and he cups the small of her back, purposely staying awake until her breathing steadies and her body goes limp. Then his eyes fall shut as exhaustion takes over, and he sleeps the sleep of a man awed by his own life.


	5. Her Story

She never expected this.

It's too much, the way her chest constricts at the sight of this child she's half-feared for months on end, the overpowering need she feels to hold this baby to her chest—the very baby conceived with the express intent of destroying her happiness. Where had it come from, this desire to tuck this child into the crook of her elbow and rock her tiny body close to her heart, to sing to her, to kiss her forehead, to cherish this infant who nearly cost her everything, to cradle her soft head so she never doubts that she's loved and wanted?

Loved. And wanted.

For she is.

She's Robin's daughter—Zelena's daughter— _her_ daughter, damn it. This baby is a wanted child, a child born to a father—no, to two parents who will love and raise her in a manner so that she will never doubt just how special she is.

Even if the woman who gave birth to her tried to kill her in an unexpected ambush just hours ago. Even if that same woman is now dead.

Dead. The thought still makes her shiver.

_Don't give her away, whatever you do._

Her voice had been weak, the color draining rapidly from sickly olive skin, but her eyes—they'd been clear, focused, alert…and desperate. Regina knows she'll never forget how her sister's eyes looked straddling the juncture between life and death.

_Don't blame her for what I've done, Regina. You can't let people hurt her because of me._

_Zelena—_

_Promise me._

She'd been numb in the midst of confusion, an icy hand clutching her arm until it began to throb. People were blurs, noise non-existent, her every sense honed in on seconds ticking by that would forever alter her life.

_Promise me…_

_I promise. This baby is Robin's, and I'll raise her as my own. I promise._

_Just like Henry?_

The question had hit her squarely in the chest, and she'd nodded without thinking.

_Just like Henry._

Then it was over.

So here she stands by the incubator cocooning new life, a life both strong and fragile, one hooked up to tubes and ventilators, one so small she could cup it in two hands. How in God's name had she ever been afraid of this baby, she wonders? How had she ever wanted to wish her away?

"Fight, little one," she instructs, her hand reaching through the round opening and touching the baby's hand. "You have to be brave now. You have to be strong."

Tiny fingers wrap around her own, almost as if the child can hear and understand what she says. Her eyes fill, and she swallows, her throat thick, her heart full, her mind focused on one thing and one thing only.

This baby. This little girl. Robin's daughter.

Her daughter.

"Just like Henry," she whispers as a tear spills over and marks her cheek. But Henry hadn't been forcibly extracted from his Emma's womb prematurely in an attempt to save his life. He hadn't had to fight to breath on his own, hadn't had to spend his first minutes plugged into machines, blocked from normal human touch by protective plastic that somehow feels like a shell.

"Be brave, my sweet girl," she instructs yet again, biting her lower lip, closing her eyes in a prayer to whomever might be listening.

Then someone clears his throat behind her. Whale.

"There's something you need to know," he begins, and she's hesitant to look at him, unwilling to take her eyes off of the baby.

"About?"

"About her."

She finally gazes back at him, nerves making her palms twitch sporadically.

"About the baby?" she questions, and he nods twice. She looks back at the little girl and tries to push down an impeding sense of panic, tasting the sharp edge of bile in the back of her throat. "What about her? Is there something wrong we don't know about?"

His delay in answering robs all remaining moisture from her mouth.

"I don't think so," he begins, taking a step closer as his voice drops in volume. "Not physically, anyway."

Ice creeps up the back of her legs, rooting her to the spot where she stands.

"Then what is it?" Regina asks, looking back at the baby, feeling the child's grip holding steady on her finger. "Just what are you trying to tell me, doctor?"

She focuses on breathing in and out, on holding herself together, regardless of what he says, of being strong for Robin in case the roof caves in once and for all.

"I think I know what killed her mother."

Her breath catches in her ribs.

"What did—"

"She did it," he continues, gesturing towards the incubator. "The baby, I mean."

He's lost it, she thinks to herself. He's finally, finally cracked. She opens her mouth to dispute him, but he beats her to the punch, raising a flat palm in her direction.

"I know how this sounds, believe me," Whale adds. "But hear me out. Just before Zelena collapsed, she tried to curse you—right?"

_You underestimated me, sis. You let yourself believe that pregnancy has made me soft and sentimental._

Regina nods, trying to keep her mind rooted in the present and up to speed with what he is saying.

"She tried to kill me," she clarifies, pausing to clear her throat. "With a mortal curse."

"But it backfired," he continued, and she nods in affirmation. "Do you have any idea how that happened?"

Her mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Her sister had been a powerful witch. Regina should be dead right now.

"Regina," he dares. "Zelena's body is covered with the scars of dark magic, and they're very distinctive if you know what you're looking for, as I do." He pauses, inhaling audibly. "But the pattern—the pattern the scars have left on your sister, well, it's extraordinary. I've never seen anything like it."

"What do you mean?' she prompts him. Her stomach curls around itself in dread.

"I mean that they seem to be drawing a map of what happened," Whale explains, his face alight with excitement. "And they aren't showing straight lines branching outward as you'd expect to see when a curse is cast. Instead, the pattern shows that Zelena conjured dark magic from within, no surprise there, and then tried to shoot it out at you."

"This is hardly new information," Regina interjects.

"Yes, but…" he continues, practically bouncing on his feet. "But then there's a looping pattern, that's what's odd, one that shows that her own body—or her own baby, I should clarify, rejected the darkness she was trying to use to kill you, and it imploded as a result."

The room starts to spin around her as her vision clouds over with spots.

"Are you saying…"

"I'm saying that that little girl wouldn't accept dark magic and somehow redirected its path," he interrupts, nodding his head in the baby's direction. "That she somehow rerouted the curse back towards herself rather than letting it harm someone else—you, to be specific. But in doing so, it hit Zelena head on and began to rip her apart, beginning with her placenta."

She can't think, can't process, can barely even breathe.

"If that's true, then it means…"

"It means that baby saved your life," Whale finishes for her. "At the risk of her own."

_Evil isn't born_ , she thinks to herself, unaware that her lips silently form the pattern of the words.

"It means that little girl effectively diffused her mother's bomb just as she threw it in your direction. This baby has some sort of magic, Regina, magic that didn't mesh with her mother's—not at all. But magic she somehow used to defeat her."

Images collide in her brain, swirling in some sort of mad menagerie that makes her sick to her stomach. Oh, God. She's going to pass out.

It's then she feels him behind her, and she leans back into his chest, absorbing his hold around her waist, gripping his arm to keep herself upright in a dream-like reality.

"Oh my God," he breathes, and she leans into him, feeling his heart beat from beneath his jacket. He is here. He is real. And so is their baby.

"Pretty heroic for a motherless child, I'd say," Whale concludes with a shrug. Her head snaps up at that, and she feels Robin stiffen behind her.

"She has a mother," Regina corrects him, a fire burning in her gut that can be lit only by her children. "I am her mother now, she is my daughter, and I will personally deal with anyone who claims otherwise. Is that clear?" Her entire body is shaking, and Robin holds her all the tighter.

Whale nods before he can speak.

"Of course," he manages as he turns on his heels. "If there's nothing else…"

He's gone before his sentence is complete.

"You heard?" she whispers, more of a statement than a question, and he nods in response.

"I heard," he returns, his fingers gripping and releasing her waist. "My God, she's already a hero, Regina. And there were times that I wished…that I wanted…"

He's broken, completely and utterly broken, and she turns partially in his arms, her finger still engulfed by those of her new daughter's, her head pressed into his chest.

"I know," she assures him, and she kisses his cheek. "She saved my life, Robin. Your—our daughter—she saved my life."

His tears drip on to her scalp, and she lets them without moving a muscle, absorbing them into her skin.

"She saved your life," he echoes, his hold on her gentle yet firm, his arm muscles flexing beneath the coarse material of his shirt.

"Just like Henry," she utters to herself, her heart swelling to twice its size as small fingers give her own a squeeze.


	6. Her Name

"I don't like this, Robin."

There are too many people, too large a crowd, and far too many eyes watching their every move. She feels claustrophobic at Granny's sometimes under normal circumstances, but today the diner is packed with wall-to-wall people, people pressed into booths and standing by the bar, even leaning against the walls as every chair is taken.

And they're all staring at her.

Not just her, but also at the baby cradled to her chest whose springs of bright red hair swirl across the top of her head like wisps of autumn leaves feathering over fair skin. Her hair is magnificent—perfect in so many aspects—but Regina fears it will brand her in this town, that it will forever mark her as the child of a Wicked Witch hell-bent on revenge rather than the daughter of the most honorable man she's ever known.

An honorable man who had the misfortune to fall in love with the evil queen, essentially drawing a target on his chest that begged for retribution. Why he ever fell in love with her, she'll never…

"It will be fine, Love," Robin states, interrupting her train of self-depreciation just in time. He squeezes her shoulder and smiles down at the baby, his expression nearly breaking as it so often does when he gazes upon his daughter. He still harbors guilt over the entire situation—over how she was conceived, how he had wished she'd never existed, how he detested her birth mother, how he'd wounded Regina the day she'd found out about Zelena's pregnancy and at each subsequent ultrasound—guilt that she wishes he'd lay down once and for all, knowing all too well just how crippling shame can be.

He rarely speaks about his own pain over what exactly happened in New York. What he'd shared she'd pried out of him one night after the boys were asleep when she'd been awakened by his absence from their bed. She'd found him on the bathroom floor, huddled in a corner clutching a pillow to his chest, unsuccessfully trying to muffle tears that could be held in no longer. God, she'd never seen him like that, before or since, and she'd just held him for what seemed like hours as sobs told a broken story of shame over circumstances far beyond his control, of trying to do what was right even though it all felt so wrong, of faking smiles and conjuring affection with the weight of a convicted man, of showering after everyone was asleep, of biting his tongue so he wouldn't call out the wrong name.

It had hurt like hell—for both of them. But he'd slept soundly in her arms when it was over, and she'd held him in the dark, thankful for every breath that warmed her neck, knowing without a doubt that he was worth the pain pulsing in her heart—that they were worth it—this was worth it, and there was nothing on this earth or any other realm that could persuade her to willingly let him go again.

She'd never felt so raw or determined in her life.

She will help him get over it—she will, just as he helps her daily without even realizing it. But first, they have to get through today.

"You look radiant, you know."

His words hit a lump of emotion in her chest, and she swallows it down, unwilling to let every man, dwarf and wanna-be princess in Storybrooke see her with her guard down, especially on a day like today.

Today belongs to their daughter. Today she must be a queen.

"Thankfully she hasn't spit up on me yet," she retorts. His resulting chuckle warms her, and Henry joins in from across the table, tossing her a grin of confidence she sucks in like air. Pink lips pucker, her body stirs, and Regina knows the girl will be hungry soon, that she'll wake and demand her bottle in no uncertain terms.

True to form, this little Mills offshoot knows what she wants and when she wants it.

She smiles down as a small face burrows into her breast, and she wishes for not the first time that her body possessed the ability to nourish this child of her heart if not of her womb. Her palm cups her daughter's head as if it were designed just for this task, and she can't help but press a light kiss to her forehead, a gesture that is as much a comfort for herself as it is for the baby. A tiny nose scrunches, pouty lips opening even as blue eyes remain closed, and Regina inserts the small pacifier into her mouth, sighing in relief as the sucking motion settles the baby almost instantly. It won't do the trick for much longer—something she knows all too well.

She should have never let Snow talk her into this damned naming ceremony.

"Let's get this thing over with," she murmurs, catching Snow's eye from across the room. "She's going to be hungry soon, and I'd rather her not be screaming when we announce her name to the masses."

"I agree," Robin states, giving David a nod that sets everything in motion. "She's starting to get restless—just like her mother."

She shoots him a disapproving look that dissolves into a grin the moment his eyes connect with hers. God, she loves this man.

"Don't worry, Mom," Henry states. "This is going to be great."

Her brows raise in tandem with her oldest son's confidence while the younger continues to crash his Hot Wheels together on the table just beside her, his dark curls bouncing with each collision. Oh, the unerring faith of children.

The Charmings move to the center of the diner, and David raises his hand, capturing everyone's attention within seconds. Finally.

"Today is a special day for the people of our community," David begins, sending a smile their way as she squirms in her seat. "Today we officially welcome a new princess into our realm, the daughter of Robin Hood and Queen Regina."

Nerves attack her stomach like a flood of hornets, and she pastes on a smile she prays appears genuine. Queen Regina—how absolutely strange that title sounds to her now, like an old leather boot that no longer fits. It amazes her just how much she now prefers Madame Mayor. Robin reaches around her waist to help her stand, and she holds their daughter all the closer as Henry and Roland slide out of the booth and take their places beside them.

Here they go.

"Cut the crap."

The voice slices through from out of nowhere, and she turns towards it as if she'd been slapped.

"We all know who that baby's mother was, and she's no princess. This ceremony is a farce, a way of trying to legitimize the bastard child of that green slut and common thief. I think we should all show them what we really think about this situation and just go home."

George. She'd incinerate the pompous idiot on the spot if she weren't holding such precious cargo.

"Then go home," Emma states, moving towards the man in question. "I knew I smelled something rotten in here. Glad to know it was just you and not the food."

George shoves Emma aside without a second thought and walks straight to David, glaring at the boy who would have been his son with an expression of pure spite. He then turns to the assembled crowd before sneering at Regina directly.

"I for one am tired of senseless ceremonies that attempt at making common mistakes appear special," he states. She feels Robin stiffen beside her, feels him flex his fist, and she knows he's ready to pounce and will do so if George is given much more leeway. "Name that kid whatever you want, but know that I and many others like me will never acknowledge her as your daughter and will deny that she possesses any claim to royalty. Who is with me?"

There are confused murmurs and rustlings, and the baby stirs in her arms as if riled up by the uncertainty in the atmosphere. This has to be stopped—now.

"Says the man who adopted two boys," Regina cuts in, staring at him hard. "To a woman who has adopted two boys of her own and now is mother to a daughter. Tell me, George, what makes this baby so different from your James? Why was he good enough to be a prince if my daughter is not suited to be a princess?"

She sees Snow step in and touch David's chest, holding her husband back just as Regina is her own.

"Don't bring my dead son into this, Regina," George demands, his brow set and firm. "At least his birth mother wasn't a…"

"A what?" Regina interrupts. "A murderer? Shall I ask exactly how many people you've killed or had killed in your time?" His jaw is trembling now, she senses it, and she stands as tall as she can, clutching the baby all the tighter to her chest. "Most of us are trying to leave our past mistakes in our past, George, and move forward into something better for all of us and for the people we love. You as well as every other citizen of Storybrooke were invited to attend the ceremony to celebrate our traditions and foster a sense of community. But so help me, if you insult my daughter, my husband, or any other member of my family again, I'll make you sorry you ever stepped foot in this diner today."

"She's an innocent," Robin adds, stepping in front of his wife and children. "And I'll be damned if I'm going to let you stand here and insult a baby who has committed no crime against anyone. If you have an issue with me, then deal with me. But kindly leave my wife and children out of it."

"As if I'd take advice from a common thief," George remarks, his anger so intense it nearly slurs his speech. He's sways on his feet somewhat, and Regina cannot help but wonder if the man has been drinking more than he should this early in the day or if he's simply overcome by righteous indignation.

"That's enough," David cautions, shoved aside by the older man as callously as Emma had been.

"Keep your nose the hell out of this," George insists, directing his warning as much towards Snow as he had towards Charming. His gaze returns to Robin's, and Regina sucks in air, sensing all hell is about to break loose.

"And as for your bitch of a wife, outlaw, do you really think most of this town has actually forgiven her for all the atrocities she committed?"

What happens next is almost a blur, Robin's lunge towards the older man, Killian's approach from behind, George's misguided swing that grazes the pirate's cheek just enough to make the man angrier, Robin's answering punch that knocks the older man flat. George rubs his jaw, and pushes himself up, giving her and everyone associated with her an expression akin to an angry pit bull.

"Now if you'll kindly leave," Robin demands, righting his shirt, his stance firm and unmoving. "This ceremony is for people who actually give a damn about my family. Those who wish to do nothing but insult them and stir up unmerited hostility would be advised to steer clear."

Her breathing is heavy, and she can't take her eyes from the face-off between the man she loves and one she wishes she could squash like a bug. Just then, a small fist waves upwards in her direction as tiny legs begin to kick against the confines of her blanket. Regina begins to rock side to side in what she hopes will be a soothing motion, her focus never leaving the fiasco playing out in front of her, her boys and nearly the entire population of Storybrooke.

Killian's hand clasps George's shoulder in a grip none too gentle, and the pirate hoists him in the direction of the door.

"You heard the man, mate," he states. "It's time for you to go." George turns and stares at Killian hard, spitting on his foot just before stomping out of the diner.

Then it's silent.

People stare at each other but seem incapable of speech. Roland clutches her pants leg, and she maneuvers the baby securely into the crook of one arm so she can clasp the boy's hand. He's shaken, hell—she's shaken herself, and the baby seems to sense it, spitting out her pacifier and unleashing a wail of protest at its absence. Regina lets go of Roland's hand just long enough to place it back in her mouth, bouncing the girl and shushing her gently, even though her legs feel far more like Jell-O than she'd like.

"I'm sorry," Robin mutters as he returns to her side, and she looks back at him and shakes her head, giving him what smile she can muster.

"You did what needed to be done," she states, dropping her head just so as his lips kiss her hair. She feels the contact all over at once.

"Yes," David agrees, his tone firm and decisive. "You did. I'm only sorry I didn't kick him out first."

"Here, here," Granny calls out from behind the counter. "That old sourpuss lives to rain on other people's happiness. Next time he shows up, I'll slip some Ex-Lax into his chocolate pie. That'll teach the bastard."

Henry guffaws at this, and Regina can't help but chuckle even as she covers Roland's ear, especially when Robin mouths Ex-Lax in her direction with a question mark on his face.

"To the baby," a voice utters, and Regina turns to see that is Marco who has spoken, his glass of wine held high and in their direction. "May she grow up surrounded by love from her family and friends in whatever realm she may find herself."

Their eyes meet from across the room, and she wishes she could run and embrace the older man, an unexpected confidante and ally she has come to cherish far more than she ever expected.

"To the princess," Archie adds quietly, catching Regina off-guard. "She's one lucky little girl to have a family who cherishes her so much." Her heart is pounding now, and she gives him a nod of thanks, processing what he and Marco have just done, swallowing down a growing lump in her throat as someone else stands and raises a glass.

"To your daughter," Tinker Bell beams. "Sometimes happy endings have an odd way of working themselves out."

Robin's arm is around her now, and he squeezes her shoulder, obviously as moved by all of this as she is. She tries to swallow, but somehow can't manage so simple a task as emotion presses stubbornly against her eyelids, heavy and determined to make itself known regardless of her wishes. And just when she feels as if she's gaining an ounce of control—

"To my step-sister."

Her head snaps up, and she gazes at Snow in speechless wonder, their eyes fastening upon each other from across the room. The other woman smiles at her in the manner that only she can do, a smile that she'd once tried to erase permanently now of such value to her she'd kill anyone who even attempted to do the other woman harm without batting an eye.

"May she never doubt how precious she is or that she has a family who loves her with everything we have."

A tear finally escapes, and she can't get to it, not with the baby in one arm and Roland held close to her side with the other. It trickles down her cheek unhindered, dripping onto the lavender blanket just as another begins a similar journey.

"To my sister," Henry adds, holding up his Coke with a grin. "The most beautiful baby I've ever seen."

"To my sister," Roland chimes in, bouncing on his feet and making his Mama Regina smile through the moisture in her eyes.

"To my daughter," Robin states, commanding everyone's attention at once. "A child who has already achieved a high place of honor in our family, a baby who continually shows her father how much beauty can come out of pain, a girl who has already given so much more than she can ever realize." His voice cracks, and he pauses to collect himself and clear his throat, the gaze he tosses her making her nearly weak-kneed. "She's a brave one, our baby girl, a fighter from the get-go, and I can only pray I am worthy of the task of being her papa."

He's crying now in earnest now, as is Snow and possibly even Granny. Regina looks down at their baby, now sucking on one of her mother's knuckles, her bare gums tickling Regina in a sensation she'll cherish the rest of her life.

"To our Merida Grace," she states, hearing low murmurs of approval in the background as the child's name is revealed. "The Princess of our Hearts." Roland claps his hands in delight, and she catches Emma's smile and nod from her corner by the door, relieved by the color that is continually returning to the other woman's complexion.

"Princess Merida," Snow echoes, raising her glass in salute.

"Princess Merida," David adds, his approval easy to read in his smile.

"Princess Merida," the crowd answers with a toast around the room, just as the girl in question lets out a wail that leaves no one in doubt of whose party it is.


	7. Her Parents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Regina deal with the aftermath of his rape.

They are together. They love each other.

But the rest is complicated.

He's not sleeping, hasn't slept well in the weeks since they'd returned to Storybrooke, regardless of the fact that she's pressed into his side, holding on to him, loving him, staying with him, even when he doesn't deserve any of it. Has there ever been anyone so undeserving as he, he wonders, and he looks back at her, vision that she is, gently tracing the faint scar just above her lip with the pad of his finger. His heart aches as he thinks of all the scars she bears internally, more than any human should have to bear, he thinks, and he winces at the reality that some have been carved by his own hand.

He's hurt her. God, he's hurt her terribly. And he hates himself for it.

What's worse is that he continues to hurt her without meaning to, cursing himself when his pain seeps outward at the worst of times. He snaps at her when he shouldn't. He gets impatient with Roland who has no idea why his Papa is acting so differently as the boy clings to Regina more than he had before they'd gone to New York, making her look back at him with a mixture of pity, love and out-and-out frustration which frustrates him even further. He avoids people, not wanting to meet their stares or hear their whispers, whether real or imagined, for Storybrooke is a small town and every citizen is all too aware of the fact that Zelena is pregnant and that the baby is his. Even the company of his men brings no solace, no joy, so he sits, he mopes, he carves and hunts in solitude.

He curses repeatedly into the branches and thick undergrowth. He cries into his pillow when Regina is at work and the boys are at school. He wallows in self-pity and self-loathing, detesting himself more with each passing day, wondering why in God's name he hadn't paid more attention to his instincts and less to his code of honor.

His life is shit, and it's no one's fault but his own.

Yet he's here—with her—they're together, they're a couple, they're a family. But not in every way that matters.

She'd initiated lovemaking again tonight, in lace and sheer black fabric that made his mouth dry and his body burn. They'd kissed, they'd touched, she'd moaned and scratched his chest, nipping, teasing, moving her mouth lower and lower, only to have him stop her before she could kiss him where he craved her most.

He was limp and lifeless where he should be hard and ready. She said it didn't matter, that it would work itself out in time, that it was understandable with all Zelena had put him through and the trauma he'd suffered, that it didn't make her love or desire him any less, even though he could easily detect the pain of rejection in her eyes.

He loves her, and gods, he wants her. But he's been unable to make love to her since they returned from New York. Somehow her touch becomes her sisters, her mouth one that sneered and lied to him in a darkness that went beyond the bedroom. Her body morphs into one that makes him feel cursed and dirty, one that seeped under his skin and into his very soul, marking him, tainting him and everyone he dares to touch.

This is the curse of living a lie. The curse of touching the wrong woman. The curse of lying to one he believed to be his wife only to discover he'd been played for a fool and brandished as a weapon against the one who owns his heart. The curse having have the genuine love he bears for two women—one dead, one alive and lying peacefully beside him—marred by a woman he wishes were dead. But he can't wish her dead, for she, the woman he detests, is the one carrying an innocent life that he created.

His chest tightens as she shifts beneath the blankets, muttering something he can't make out.

How can he explain all of this to Regina—to she who has overcome her own demons yet touches him with a tenderness beyond his understanding? How can he tell her that her sister has taken even this from her—his ability to demonstrate physically the depth of love he carries for her in his heart? How can he expect her to be willing to wait for what he should have never given to the woman who claimed and used his body for her own purposes while he tried not to think of Regina?

But he had thought of her—every time, alone in the shower or with her in that bed. And now, when he has Regina back in his life and in his arms, his mind strays to her sister, to the one who'd infected the beauty and goodness in his life, making him feel horribly unclean and about as worthless as a broken arrow.

He is absolutely mortified, but does he deserve any less?

"You're thinking out loud again."

She stirs, and he sighs, his face grimacing at the knowledge that he can't even let her sleep in peace.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, moving to get out of the bed. "I'll just go—"

Her hand on his bicep stops him.

"Don't," she breathes, her fingers firm but unsteady. "Don't leave, Robin. Stay."

He closes his eyes, unable to look back at her as he nods his head and slides back under the sheets.

"Alright," he states, swallowing down the bile of shame and regret. "But if I keep you awake…"

"What?" she interrupts, pressing herself up on one elbow. "You'll what? Leave?"

His head drops to his chest.

"If it will help you rest better, yes."

She sighs audibly.

"And if I'd rather sit up with you?" she questions, catching him off-guard.

"Why would you want to do that?" he asks. "You have a job, you have a child…"

"I have two children now," she corrects, her tone and expression leaving him no room to correct her. "Or does taking care of Roland not count?"

"Of course it counts," he returns, feeling like an idiot already. "I just don't want to presume…"

"That I love him?" she cuts in. "That I consider him family? That having the two of you here with Henry and me makes me feel complete and happy in a way I haven't felt my entire life?"

He can't answer her. His tongue feels like lead, his throat the texture of paper.

"When I say that I love you, I mean it, Robin," she continues, reaching out to touch his shoulder. He winces, and her forehead touches his chest, her breath tickling his skin and making him feel ashamed. "God, she really did a number on you, didn't she?"

His throat is thick now, his eyes on the brink of tears. He doesn't know if he nods or not as he fights this tide of emotion, exhaustion thinning his walls of defense inch by inch.

"I couldn't stand to be touched for a long time," she begins, hesitating a moment before her tone drops a few steps. "After Leopold…after I killed Leopold." He turns to look at her, the shame in her own features striking him in the gut.

"Regina—"

"I took lots of baths back then," she continues as if he hadn't spoken. "Two or three a day, sometimes. But I never felt clean, no matter how hot the water or how hard I scrubbed. Sometimes I left marks on myself from trying to wash him off."

His skin burns at the memory of hot shower after hot shower, some Regina knows about, others he's taken when she's been gone from the house.

"I didn't want to see anyone those first few weeks of my marriage," she volunteers. "I felt like they'd see what he'd had me do, like they'd know exactly how he'd touched me and made me touch him, and I couldn't have people look at me like that. I didn't want their pity—I didn't want to be judged, and I sure as hell didn't want them to think that I was actually enjoying something that hadn't been my choice."

Rage mingles with self-derision as the need to strike back at a dead man wars with his desire to lash out at himself.

"I—I chose to go to bed with her, Regina." The words fall like lead pellets off of his tongue, the memory alone leaving a bitter aftertaste in his mouth.

"You chose to sleep with your wife," she corrects, her eyes not meeting his for a fleeting second. "That's different."

"I went to bed with another woman," he blurts, taking his volume down a few notches as he feels her tense beside him. "Even when I knew something wasn't right, even though I wished to God that it was you instead of her there with me, I still did it. This—this entire mess is my fault."

His breath comes in catches as she pushes herself to a full sitting position, hugging her knees to her chest.

"You chose to sleep with my sister?" she questions, her voice steadier than it should be.

"What? No," he gushes, rubbing his hand over his scalp. "Of course not. I would have never…" He stops, watching as she waits for comprehension to strike him.

"You would have never slept with Zelena," she finishes, her eyes brimming with moisture.

"God, no," he manages, tears beginning to cascade down his face, dampening his beard, the sheets, the backs of his hands as he tries to wipe them away.

"She took advantage of you, Robin," Regina murmurs, his skin going cold at her words. "She stole what you would have never freely offered."

"But I was still unfaithful to you," he cries, his insides in such a jumble he wonders if they'll ever be sorted out. "I gave up on us, Regina, after all we'd been through, after I promised you that I wouldn't."

His vision blurs, and he seals his eyes shut, unable to stop the sobs that break free and take hold of him. Then he feels her arms move around him, her head touch his shoulder, her lips graze his cheek, and he breaks completely as he clasps on to her with all he has, terrified she'll disappear if he lets go.

"I gave up, too, you know," she breathes, and he clutches her arm.

"But you didn't…"

"What if I had?"

"But you…"

"Robin!"

He stops then, trying to get himself under some sort of control, rubbing his face so he can see her clearly.

"What if I had sought comfort with someone else while you were gone?" she presses. "Because I was hurting and lonely, because we'd agreed that what we did had to be done and that things between us were over? Because I missed you so badly that being alone again was the worst sort of agony and I couldn't stand it anymore? What if it had been me?" He sniffs, shaking his head, trying to wrap his mind completely around what she is saying.

"Would you toss me out on my ear and tell me it was over between us because I'd been with someone else when we were no longer together?"

"That's different," he returns shakily, clearing his throat. "It wasn't exactly that way, Regina, and I've brought a baby into the picture, a baby that should be ours, not…not…"

Shit—God—this whole situation is so ugly and out of hand, and he fumbles, his tongue suddenly incapable of speech.

"Not hers," she whispers, the pain of her bareness etched clearly upon her features.

"Not hers," he echoes, his tone as hollow as his insides. They are silent and still as the clock ticks by second after second, her touch steady and sure, his rigid and restless.

"What would you do if it were me, Robin? If our situations were reversed? Tell me."

Moisture pools once again, and he blinks away fresh tears, his tone hoarse and deep. He looks at her and sees that she's serious, her dark eyes luminous and open, waiting to hear his heart. He inhales and swallows, feeling as raw and exposed as he ever has in his life.

"I'd hold on to you with everything I had, no matter what had happened while we were apart. I'd never let you go again."

Her eyes lock on to his as she nods without a word. He crumbles into her touch.

She leans into him fully, allowing him to embrace her as she'd been embracing him, kissing him, letting him kiss her through tears and sweat until they're both damp and spent, fingers clasping, breaths intertwined, fractured hearts united.

"And neither will I," she murmurs, her words burrowing in deep and true. He hugs her closer, kissing her hair, pulling her on to his lap so they can embrace body to body, her head coming to rest on his shoulder, his fingers stroking her back.

"Marry me, Robin." His breath catches in his throat as he sits up as straight as he can.

"What?" he utters, certain he hasn't heard her correctly, unable to look away from the expression of wonder and anticipation on her features.

"Marry me," she repeats, and he shakes his head yet again, staring at her as if she's spoken another language. "Am I not being clear?"

"Yes, yes," he answers, watching as her brows raise up in a question. "I mean—yes, you're being clear."

"Not yes, you'll marry me?" she asks, and he mucking this up, he knows it, but he can't accept what she's asking him—why she's asking him when he's made such a mess of her life in so short a time.

"Regina…"

"Yes or no, Robin," she clarifies, taking both of his hands in her own. "That's all I need at the moment. I know we have things to work out, that Zelena will be a constant factor in our lives now, that raising another woman's baby isn't exactly a piece of cake, but I think we can face all of that better if we're together in every way we can be."

He's speechless—thoroughly and utterly speechless, his heart beating so loud he's amazed she can't hear it.

"Why?" he manages, his head shaking of its own accord. "Why in God's name would you want to marry me right now?"

Her gaze is direct and unblinking.

"Because I choose you, Robin," she replies, leaning in so close her features are fuzzy. "Because I want you and your children in my life. It's that simple."

"But the timing—"

"Sometimes it's all about timing," she states, actually making him grin slightly as she recants his own words. "But sometimes, the timing is up to us."

His breath is ragged, his throat somewhat raw, but he feels the edge of something warm and lovely sneak around him from the inside out, something he hasn't felt since he crossed the town line for what he believed would be forever. Something that feels an awful lot like hope.

"I love you, Regina." And he does—so much the force of it is staggering.

She kisses him then, open mouthed and unbridled, and he's reminded of the first time they kissed, when she'd drawn him towards her in the forest, taking him completely by surprise and rattling his mundane world, just as she was doing at this very moment in this bed they now share.

"Yes," he murmurs into her lips, watching her smile in that manner that never ceases to get to him. "Yes, I'll marry you."

The air shifts and lightens between them for the first time in weeks.

"Thank God," she hums, squeezing his thighs with her legs as she bites her lower lip. "I was starting to wonder."

He claims her lips in a kiss he feels everywhere before she has a chance to say anything else, tasting this, savoring her, amazed that he's been given this marvel in the midst of so much pain and uncertainty.

"Thank God for you," he breathes into her mouth, cupping her face, committing this moment to memory.

She exhales and laughs, and he laughs, too, he can't help it. He feels fractured yet whole as they collapse into each other on the mattress, bodies intertwined, fingers laced. It's a position that will be repeated nearly two months later after a small ceremony under the shade of their tree, after toasts and flower petals and more well-wishes than he'd ever anticipated, after carrying her gingerly over the threshold and up the stairs, after depositing her on to the mattress and undressing her slowly as his fingers tremble in anticipation of the life they will continue building.

After he finally and thoroughly makes love to his wife.


	8. Her Past

The chime of the doorbell is followed by a rapid pounding, one that makes her drop the knife on to the counter beside a partially peeled potato, nearly nicking her finger in the process.

That's odd. She isn't expecting anyone.

More pounding demands her attention, as does a child's stifled yell, the coupling of these two particular sounds prompting her to move towards the front door without bothering to turn off the burner. Her heart inches towards her throat, and she catches herself sprinting the last few feet, throwing open the door without bothering to see who it is.

It's Snow. And she doesn't look good.

She's holding Merida, in fact, whose head is buried in the crook of the other woman's neck and shoulder, small hiccups making the child's body shake as she slowly turns a tear-stained face towards Regina and thrusts out her arms.

"What happened?" Regina questions, examining her daughter for suspected cuts, scrapes or bruises all too often picked up at the playground. She takes the girl into her arms, kissing a damp cheek and stroking matted curls that feel like used sandpaper. "Is she hurt?"

Its then she spies Neal standing beside his mother, his face surly, his lip swollen and bloodied to the point that it resembles a roma tomato. Blue jeans smudged with dirt, sneakers caked with mud, his pout so pronounced it almost speaks for itself-no, these aren't the signs of a regular afternoon at the park. Something is definitely wrong.

"Were they in an accident?" Regina continues, cupping the back of Merida's head as the girl pastes herself to her mother's chest, her legs wrapping around Regina's waist as tightly as her small arms twist around her neck. "Or a fight?" She rubs Merida's back, the material of her blouse now sodden and sticking to her shoulder. No limbs are positioned at odd angles, she has yet to spy any blood on her daughter...a wasp sting, perhaps?

"Not exactly," Snow states, pausing just long enough to rattle her nerves even further. There's something in the way she's looking at Merida, something that tells Regina that what happened today is far bigger than stings, stitches or splinters. Something that claws peskily at her insides and makes her want to yell.

"Well?" Regina snaps, unable to stomach the suspense any longer. "Why is she so upset? Did something scare her?"

"Regina," Snow cuts in, her expression settling as her eyes hone in directly. "It might be better if we talked about this inside."

Something is off—very off—so much so that a knot of dread plops into her stomach and doubles in size on contact. She steps back, allowing Snow to drag Neal into the foyer before closing the door and leading the way into the living room. The ceilings seem higher than usual, the walls colder, the light muted and tired.

"Okay," Regina begins as she sits on the edge of the sofa, Merida still attached to her like a baby Koala. Neal plops down beside his mother, obviously fuming over something, but what exactly, she has no idea. "We're inside. What's going on?"

Her daughter shakes her head against her neck as Regina attempts to shift her into a more comfortable position, moisture and mucus dampening her skin and blouse even further. She pulls the girl back just far enough to look at her face, her skin red and blotched, her nose and eyes puffy.

"Merida," Regina utters gently, wondering why her child won't look her in the eye. She's still sobbing, her breath coming in snatches and gulps as she wipes her nose with her sleeve. "What's the matter, baby?"

The girl throws herself back on to her mother's chest, her tears falling in earnest now.

"It wasn't her fault," Neal mutters, pointing at Merida and shaking his head. "It wasn't mine, either, Auntie Gina."

"What wasn't her fault?" Regina utters as puzzle pieces try to fit themselves together unsuccessfully in her mind.

"We know that, Neal," Snow assures him, rubbing his back and silently nudging him closer to her. "Nobody is angry with you or Merida." Her focus returns to Regina, her eyes steely, her mouth set. "Our kids aren't at fault here, just so you know."

"Would you kindly just tell me what the hell is going on?"

She bites her lip, hating that she just lost control in front of Neal and Merida. But she can't call the words back, can't scoop them up and put them back in her mouth, so she leaves them lying there between them, her body now void of malice, her shoulders beginning to stoop under the weight of worry.

"I'm sorry," she utters, trying to breathe in and out at a more regulated pace. "I didn't mean to snap at you like that. I just need to know what happened..."

"He was mean to her."

It's Neal who interrupts, his expression scrunched and angry, his bottom lip jutting out to the point of almost being comical.

"Somebody was mean to Merida?" Regina clarifies, catching Snow's eye.

"A boy said something to her," Snow states as she continues to rub her son's back. "About Zelena."

Dread shoots up her spine instantly, paralyzing her to the spot, making her forget how to breathe no matter how strongly her lungs protest.

"He said nobody should play with Merida 'cause her mommy was a wicked witch, and if she didn't get her way, she'd turn us all into frogs or something."

The words gush out of Neal as Merida's grip on her tightens, constricting her rib cage to the point that breathing is now a decided effort. She feels disembodied, like she's seeing this scene play out through a tunnel in slow motion or portrayed by smudged, painted figures on a canvas.

It isn't supposed to happen this way. This conversation is not supposed to happen yet. And Robin is supposed to be here when it does.

"Oh God," Regina breathes, unsure if the words actually fell from her lips or not. Her fingers move instinctively into Merida's hair, stroking, touching, trying her best to soothe as her hands tremble uncontrollably. "Who? Who did this?"

"One of Old Lady Stringer's sons," Snow answers, the set of her jaw tight and angry. "Todd, I think."

"The old biddy shouldn't have so many kids if she can't teach them any better than to pick on little girls," Regina spits. Her spine is cold now, cold enough to shoot ice crystals through her chest and out her eye sockets.

"I agree, but that's neither here nor there," Snow states, inhaling noisily in an obvious attempt to keep the conversation somewhat calm. "What matters at the moment is that Merida is upset."

It irks her that Snow's observation is so spot on. She shifts as best she can with Merida planted on her lap, shuddering at the imagined sound of fingernails scraping down a chalkboard.

"I'm aware of that," Regina manages, shoving down wells of anger just begging to be unleashed, knowing this is neither the time nor the place to give full reign to her fury.

"I told him to say sorry," Neal interjects. "That I was gonna tell on him for being mean to Merida. But he told me that I was just a baby with a witch for a girlfriend and that I should go play with my dolls."

Regina pauses, truly examining the boy's face—his swollen lip, loud streaks of red fading to yellows and purplish-grays just beneath is right eye.

"What did you do, Neal?" she questions, fairly certain of the answer already.

"I tackled him," Neal replies, sounding indignant that she had even had to ask. "He was being a bully, and bullies shouldn't win."

She hears David's inflection seeping out of the five year old's mouth. The realization warms her like hot chocolate.

"Come here," she instructs, careful to keep her tone level. Neal blinks repeatedly before he swallows and takes a step forward, clearly frightened he's gotten himself in trouble. "You stood up for Merida against a bigger boy?"

The child nods, his bottom lip growing by the second.

"That was very brave," Regina states just before she waves her palm over the child's face. Dots of silver flash before him as he sucks in air, but then he smiles, touches his no longer swollen lips, carefully examines his eye and cheek now the color of skin rather than injury. "Does that feel better?"

"Yeah!" the boy exclaims, his face splitting into a grin identical to his mother's as he looks from one woman back to the other. "Thanks, Auntie Gina."

Snow smiles as he moves back into the crook of her outstretched arm, and Regina watches as he snuggles into the comfort of his mother, now content and blemish free.

At least one child feels better, she thinks as Merida sobs anew against her chest. At least one child will sleep tonight without difficulty.

If only she had a potion to take away the punishing effects of words and hard facts, one she could feed to her daughter before she tells her facts that could reduce the girl into a pile of shreds labeled Mills. Her mother created quite the legacy, she muses, one of selfishness and self-derision, of ambition gone wrong and love skewed beyond recognition, one that branded her as a child and still makes her limp emotionally when no one is looking besides her husband.

This is the legacy she now must pass on to her daughter. That she was conceived in a lie, carried as revenge, born after an attempted murder, all because her grandmother deemed her biological mother unworthy of raising. The lump in her throat swells like a sponge tossed into a bathtub.

Snow stands, taking her son's hand, stopping just in front of Regina, her brow scrunched in concern.

"Does she know?"

The words are mouthed, not voiced, yet they clatter to the floor with the weight of a canon. Regina shakes her head. Snow closes her eyes.

"We'll leave the two of you alone," Snow states loudly enough for the children to hear. Regina's throat constricts another notch with each step the other woman takes towards to the door, and she fights down the urge to call her back, to ask Snow to stay, to beg her to do this for her as a new terror grips her hard. She's frightened of telling Merida the truth. Frightened she'll mess up. Frightened Merida won't understand. Frightened her family might crumble away to nothing as her life has in the past, leaving her alone and fully responsible, the mother who could never get anything right, the reformed evil queen clutching to a happy ending faded beyond recognition.

"Mommy?"

It's her daughter who calls her back, all smudged freckles and blue eyes, bruised shins and battered heart.

"Is it true?"

Her voice is no sturdier than a wrung out washcloth, her nose now nearly the same shade as her hair.

"Is what true?" Regina asks, nearly rolling her eyes at her own ridiculous question.

"Am I a witch?"

The eyes that look back at her are the eyes of her father. And they gently demand the truth.

"No," Regina replies, losing her fingers in red curls she knows by heart. "You're not."

Merida coughs, and Regina conjures a box of Kleenex just beside them, placing one into a warm, sweaty palm that still smells of swings and sand.

"Are you my real mommy?"

Blackness dots her vision. She is hollow, completely hollow and frozen, save for the pain in her chest reminding her that her heart still beats.

"I am," Regina answers. "But I didn't carry you inside my body."

Merida's nose screws up as her face morphs into a scrunched pout, one that oddly reminds Regina of a squished troll. She tosses the notion aside, summoning Robin home as best she can with her thoughts, casting them broadly across Storybrooke, hoping they'll find him and tug on his sleeve.

"You're my adopted daughter, Merida," she clarifies, stopping to rid her throat of pesky clumps. "All of my children are adopted—Henry, Roland, and you."

The new word sits in front of the girl, and she reaches out for it with small hands that clasp her mother's shoulders and mucus she sniffs up her nose.

"What's 'dopted?" she asks, clearly perplexed yet hopeful, as though Regina has just tossed her a lifeline in the deep end of panic.

"It means I chose you. I picked the three of you to be mine."

She's confused again, God, she's only just turned four. This is a conversation they were supposed to have together—she and Robin and Merida—one that should have waited until her fifth or sixth birthday when she could better grasp an abstract concept and process the fact that her biological mother was someone she is much better off without.

"A woman can become a mother two ways," Regina attempts to clarify. "One way is by carrying a baby in her body, letting her grow and get big enough to breathe on her own."

"Like Emma?" Merida questions, her eyes widening in recognition. "When her tummy was really big with Baby Arthur?"

"Yes," Regina confirms, continuing to stroke her child's hair. "Exactly like Emma."

"But I didn't grow in your tummy?"

The question stings in its innocence, conjuring swirled images of Cora and Leo, of Robin's face when he first said the word _pregnant_ , of Zelena asking her to not give her unborn child away.

"No, sweetheart," Regina admits. "My body can't carry babies. So instead, I find children who need a mother and make them my own."

She sees the wheels in the girl's mind spinning, whirling, grinding into thoughts until she can dissect and make sense of them for herself.

"So I needed a mommy?" Merida asks. Regina's entire skeleton shudders at once.

"Yes, sweetheart," she responds, her voice the texture of warm milk. "You did." She pauses, breathing in, holding in the air, letting it out slowly to settle her mind and quiet her limbs. "The woman who carried you inside her, who gave birth to you…her name was Zelena. She was my sister. And she died when you were born."

There's very little reaction, less than she'd expected, until blue eyes hone in on her without a single blink.

"She was the witch," Merida states flatly. Regina's hands cup the girl's face instinctively, preparing her, grounding her, despising the inevitability of this moment as much as she had Henry and Roland's discovery of her own mired past.

"She was," Regina answers. "But you aren't."

Merida's eyes turn liquid, her breathing accomplished in puffs and spurts.

"How do you know, Mommy?"

The question is whispered, as if giving it voice will make it true.

"Because evil is a choice."

Her declaration is solid. It stands on its own two feet, even as her own have gone completely numb. Their eyes lock, Regina's resolute, Merida's uncertain.

"It's made, Merida," she continues, her fingers sliding to the back of the child's head. "Not born. Only you can turn yourself into a wicked witch, my darling. No one else has that kind of power over your destiny."

A tear drips from rose petal lashes, another crystallizing in the crook of her left eye.

"How do you know?" the child mutters, wiping her nose with the well-worn Kleenex. "How can you be sure?"

"Because I've made those choices," she admits, the words burning her tongue, leaving a residual of sand on her palate. "Both the wrong ones and the right ones. There was a time in my life that I chose evil, Merida, when I hurt people and did terrible things."

Her pulse runs away with her as a dull ringing resounds in her ears.

"But you're good, Mommy."

For a fleeting second, she wishes the world were this simple, that good and evil were black and white, that grays wouldn't cling to her insides like damp stockings continually pinching all the wrong places. But grays are not an appropriate pallet for a four year old whose primary language is that of primary colors and do's and don'ts. Grays are not something her daughter understands.

Regina chooses black and white.

"I'm good now, Merida," she states, the words awkward, their taste foreign. "Because I decided to change my life and choose good over evil. It's that simple."

Curls brush her fingers as the girl nods and chews on her lower lip.

"Why did you choose evil before?"

The question nearly gets lost, barely making it out of the child's mouth, her lips pressed together so closely it's a wonder Regina heard her at all. Her stomach flips twice, her lids flutter shut, and she wishes again for Robin, craving his assurance, needing his ability to make everything complicated sound as simple as sloshing through puddles. She files through explanation after explanation, fully aware of how hollow each sounds even to her own ears, trying her best not to mix colors in the process.

How will her daughter see her after today? Next week? Ten years from now?

How will she see herself?

"Because I was wrong," she says, choosing the simplest yet most honest answer. "And I listened to the wrong people."

Merida's nose twitches as she reads her mother's face, her fingers needing a tactile distraction. She chooses the button's on Regina's blouse, rubbing their smooth surface, gazing at them as if they were made of diamonds rather than plastic and thread.

"I decided it was more important to hurt the people who had hurt me instead of forgiving them and moving on," Regina expounds. "Then one day, Henry helped me realize that the person I was hurting the most was myself. He helped me make better choices and become a better mother."

The words morph from gravels to putty as they filter through her lips, and she marvels at the wonder of it, how simply speaking frankly with her daughter unravels a knot in her chest she'd forgotten still existed.

"I wanted to hit Todd when he said those things about me," the girl murmurs. She's not looking at her mother now, her gaze fixed and steady on the third button. "Does that make me evil?"

"Not at all," Regina hastens, a smile fighting its way out. "To tell the truth, I'd like to hit him, too."

Her sniffly giggle sounds like Mozart to Regina's ears, the smile that accompanies it more priceless than the Mona Lisa.

"Getting angry doesn't make you bad, Merida," Regina assures her, touching her forehead to her daughter's. "It's what we do with our anger that's important."

The girl's lips are twitching, words struggling to form, ones she obviously doesn't want to say sneaking their way out.

"She…her…Zelena…"

Her eyes fly back to the button, her chin quivering, her hands fisting into balls.

"She's really dead?"

The child's fear is tangible, spilling out of her, leaving her small body shaking in its wake and her mind twisting itself into pretzels.

"Yes," Regina whispers, nudging her child nose to nose, pulling her close, breathing her in. "She's really dead. You don't have to be afraid of her."

Merida's eyes flutter, and she swallows-once, twice until she summons the courage to ask what she needs to know.

"So she can't come back and take me away from you?"

Regina's arms tremble without warning. The world feels suddenly cold, as if the impossible were taunting her from beyond the grave.

"No, sweetheart," she states, closing her mind to the mere possibility of life without this child. "Nobody can ever take you away from me. I'm your mother."

Her lungs nearly collapse as Merida hurls herself straight into Regina's chest, her nose pressed to her mother's shoulder, small arms fastened around her neck. They remain like this for seconds, minutes, mutually deciding that it really doesn't matter if neither of them cares. This child is of her body, Regina muses, even if she didn't grow in her womb or kick against her ribs. They are attached in every way possible—emotionally, physically, pressed together like two colors of Play Do now combined to form something new.

They finally separate to breathe and look at each other.

"I don't want her as my first mother."

The confession hovers between them, an invisible vapor that won't go away. This is just the beginning, Regina realizes, the beginning of a lifetime of questions and confusion, realities she wishes she could brush away for her child like her stubborn red tangles at the end of the day. There will be many discussions, tears in the backyard, whispers behind closed doors, doubts and derision, reminders and repeated words that carry more weight than any obstacle the family will face.

_I love you. You're my child. You're my mommy. I will always choose you. I will never let you go._

They will bathe in these utterances, will wear them as a shield, will cling to them when night presses in and accusations whisper with mocking tones and dogged persistence. They will glue them together with a bond that defies description, a bond fashioned of the most powerful form of magic that exists. Merida is a child of true love. Not through the manner of her conception by any means, but through the choices her parents have made and will continue to make for the rest of their lives.

"I know, baby," Regina hums, feeling as helpless as she had when Henry ran away. She hates that her daughter now bears a wound, one that will heal but leave a permanent scar. She knows about scars-she's an expert at them, in fact, seeing her own in marked clarity when exhaustion and self-doubts creep in, seeing Robin's when he slides off his own personal armor before climbing into bed with the one person he fully trusts with his nakedness each night. "But there's nothing you can do to change that." She collects the girl's hands in her own, tracing lines as they sit almost motionless. "You can only be in charge of what happens now."

A new energy pulses between them. Their pulse rates fall into sync.

"I don't know how," Merida sighs. She almost deflates into her mother's lap before Regina takes the girl's chin into her grasp and lifts it so they're staring eye to eye.

"Don't worry about that," Regina assures her, conjuring a smile from the depths of her past, present and future. She will guard this child. She will love this child. She will never let her doubt that her real mother loves her to the moon and back. "That's why you have me."


	9. Unbidden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roland worries that the new baby will mess everything up.

"I didn't ask for this, you know."

Robin stops in a half-crunched position, sitting back down on the porch step from which he's just pushed himself up, staring directly at the downcast face of his son.

"For what, Roland?" he questions, cricket song echoing in his ears as silence greets his question. The boy won't look at him, choosing instead to study his sneakers, one of which has come untied, Robin notes, so he chooses to wait him out, folding his hands in his lap, looking back up at the emerging moon with a stifled sigh.

"For a little sister."

The child's words are hushed, muffled, nearly lost in the evening air the moment they leave his lips, but Robin feels them nonetheless, thinking rather loudly to himself that neither he nor Regina asked for this either.

"I know, son," he murmurs, sliding an arm around a child now as confused as he's been for the past several months. "But sometimes, the things we don't ask for turn out to be just what we need."

Roland scrunches his nose, finally looking up at his papa, his eyes seeking answers to what doesn't make sense.

"We don't need a baby," the boy argues. "We're enough right now—you, me, Henry and Gina." His face falls into arms crossed over already worn Levis.

"I agree," Robin states, Roland looking back at him in confusion. "We are enough. But that doesn't mean we can't make room in our hearts for one more, does it?"

Roland's sigh is weighted, his little shoulders drooping as he shakes his head.

"Why should we?" he asks. "When talking about her makes everybody so sad?"

The question hits him squarely in the chest, robbing him of air, making his lungs ache in time with his heart. They'd taken pains not to discuss Zelena's pregnancy in front of Roland, to shield him from the harsher points of this twisited situaion. Evidently, somehow, they'd failed.

"What if she ruins everything, Papa?" Roland continues. "What if after she's born she makes Gina so upset she won't let us live here anymore?"

There are tears then, the kind that give the child hiccups and make him wipe his nose on his shirt. Robin pulls him into his chest, rubbing tangled curls desperately in need of a wash as he kisses the boy's forehead and rocks the two of them back and forth. He'd be lying if he said he didn't share the same fears as his son, that at some point Regina will decide it is just too much to raise the child of her lover and her sister, to take on the role of mothering a baby conceived in spite and deception. He swallows hard, doing all he can to press down his own doubts as his son's spill over onto his shirt.

"That's not going to happen."

Her voice strokes them from behind as she makes her way to their step, taking a seat on the other side of Roland as her gaze drifts back and forth between father and son. Her manicured fingers twirl a dark curl around itself until Roland looks up at her and wipes his face.

"You and your father are my family, Roland," she continues, cupping the boy's chin so he can't look away. "I'm not going to ask you to leave."

He practically hears the wheels turning in his son's head as he tries to keep up.

"But the baby," Roland utters. "What if she makes you sad, Gina? What if you don't like her?"

He sees how the muscles of her face falter, something perceptible only to him yet enough to make his heart heavy.

"That's not going to happen," she utters, her voice steady and strong. "Because she'll be ours then, Roland, a member of our family. And we don't give up on family."

He's confused, Robin sees it, the notion of the Wicked Witch's baby being their family a hard thing for a child of his age to process. His chin starts to tremble, and she holds her arms out towards the boy, allowing him to fall into her lap as his arms wrap around her possessively.

"Are you gonna be her mama?" Roland asks, allowing Regina to wipe the tears from his cheeks. "Like Papa is gonna be her papa?"

His stomach knots just before she nods, and he releases a breath he didn't realize had been trapped inside, the full weight of his son's question unknown to its asker but felt soundly by its recipients. She looks at him then, the smile emerging on her lips one laced with pain yet brimming with promise, and he reaches his arm around her, unable to help himself any longer, breathing her in greedily as she leans freely into his touch.

"Yes, Roland," she whispers. "I'm going to be her mama."

The child ducks his head into her chest then, unwilling to look at either of them until Regina cups his face and raises it gently.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" she questions, something swiriling in Robin's stomach as a premonition strikes him from behind. Roland coughs and shifts in her lap, hugging her tighter as he tries to sniff back his tears. "Why are you so upset?"

Frogs chirp and croak around them as the sky continues a slow fade from gray to ebony, and Robin shivers as a breeze from the north blows cooly against his neck. Regina holds Roland all the tighter, sheltering the boy, looking to him for answers he wishes he could give her as one hand strokes her back, his other continually stroking his son's.

"I'm the only one," Roland finally mutters, his words nearly lost into her shoulder and blouse. He leans back far enough so his face can be seen in the light spilling from the house, the swollen state of his nose and eyes ripping at Robin from multiple directions at once.

"The only one?" Regina echoes, shaking her head slightly. "I don't understand, Roland."

He wipes his nose on the sleeve of his jacket, finally looking Regina in the eye as his bottom lip continues to tremble.

"The only kid in this family who can't call you Mama."

Cold water rushes through Robin's veins, and he sees Regina break before his eyes, the possessive nature in which she embraces his son one of the most tragic and beautiful things he's ever witnessed. She's staring at him, asking for words she doesn't have, and he draws them both into his chest, kissing her cheek, Roland's hair, relishing the blending of their scents here as twilight gives way to darkness in a manner he's sure he's never witnessed.

"You can," she breathes, and it's his own heart cracking then, shattering and gluing itself back together until it's too large for his ribs and presses tears down his face. "You can call me Mama, baby. Whenever you want to."

Roland is holding on to her as if she's his lifeline, and Robin realizes with a start that she is exactly that to his son—the woman who saved him in the enchanted forest, who introduced him to ice cream, who snuggles with him each night in bed until he falls asleep. She's Roland's mother in every sense of the word, and this merging of their lives here on the back porch is the most surreal and glorious moment of his life, complications and past hurts paling in comparision to the fractured mosaic taking shape in full view of the stars.

"Can I really?" the boy sniffs, turning his face to look squarely at his papa. Robin's nodding before he realizes it, smiling in spite of himself, and they allow themselves to simply cuddle and hold on to each other in a moment of blessed calm.

"I'd love it," she whispers, her own tone choked and husky as an owl hoots in the distance. "I've always wanted a little boy with dark curly hair and dimples." He giggles, burrowing into her chest until he resembles a cub clinging to his mother.

"And this baby," she continues, stilling his breath as her own fears gaze back into his own "She'll only make me love you more."

He's not certain how he's not weeping, but he's kissing her instead, gently, chastely, as her fingers brush over his nape and steal the breath from his lungs.

"We didn't ask for this, you know," Robin utters, nudging his nose against hers. "Roland and I. For you—for Henry. But we're so glad we got you." Roland's nodding and holding on to both of them now, making certain for himself that his family won't leave him, not now when he finally has what he wants. She smiles at the two of them, a wet smile forged from trials and disappointment, her expression embracing both father and son, the man and boy she's chosen, just as she's choosing a baby most consider a mistake.

"So am I," she breathes, her head falling to his shoulder as the frogs continue their nocturne, wrapping themselves up in an invisible blanket of their own design, one they will pass down eventually after years of keeping them warm.


	10. Her Big Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry reassures his mom, just when she needs it.

"Is she sleeping?"

She starts, glad to see the jerky movement hasn't woken the baby.

"Finally," she whispers, shifting as he walks around in front of the oversized glider so she can see him. "It's been a rough night."

He reaches down and strokes the ginger head, and she wonders again how it is he's taller than she is now when it seemed like only a few months ago she'd been rocking him close to her chest in just the same manner.

"I know. I heard."

Her brow creases at that.

"But I…"

"Put a silencing spell on Roland's and my end of the hall. I know. I was downstairs finishing my homework when she started crying."

She shoots him a reprimanding look he shrugs off with a smile.

"She's doing better, isn't she?"

The small bundle stretches into her breasts, making her heart ache in more ways than one.

"Yes, although I'll be thankful when this colic has finally run its course. It's wearing her father and me out."

Fingers dust over skin so soft it's almost painful to touch, and she watches the rosebud mouth suck instinctively, smiling in spite of bone-weary fatigue.

"Didn't you say I was the same way?"

He kneels down in front of her and cups the baby's head, his gentle protectiveness making her ribs expand another notch.

"You were. But I was younger then."

His freckles take on gold and silver hues as moonlight mixes with the nightlight's warm glow, freckles sadly fading as manhood continually encroaches on her little boy.

"And on your own. You took care of me all on your own, Mom. Robin wasn't around to share midnight shifts."

She thinks of the man sleeping on his stomach in their bed, one who barely slept the night before and almost fell face first into his food at supper.

"I did what I had to do, Henry. And I'd do it all again in a heartbeat."

The little body has grown slack and boneless in her arms, the child finally succumbing to the deep sleep they both desperately need.

"You already are," he returns, continuing to stroke the baby's peach fuzz. "You've adopted another child who needs a mother, and you love her as much as you would if you had given birth to her."

His words catch her by surprise and grip her heart, squeezing just enough to push a tear down her cheek as she searches for a response she can't find. His words sound like those of a man, like they should have been spoken by Robin, not by her teenage son.

"Babies are easy to love," she manages, trying to swallow down emotion clumping in her throat.

"But not easy to raise," he tosses back. She shakes her head, looking from her oldest to her youngest, feeling both unworthy and profoundly grateful for the life she now has.

"Go to bed," she instructs, her words morphing into a yawn that makes him smile.

"I will if you will."

He stands and helps her out of the glider, her living bundle not stirring a muscle. The baby is carefully laid in her crib, blanket secured, monitor turned on, rail raised and locked as they both stare down at the smallest member of the family. His arm moves around her shoulders, and she wraps her own around him, the child who pulled her back from the abyss, the life that taught her how to love.

"I love you, Mom," he whispers, prompting her to hold him all the tighter. "Never forget that I do."


	11. Her Image

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regina and Robin struggle with doubt and anger during Zelena's pregnancy.

He's sweating-he has been all morning, actually, his hands fisting in and out, his coffee half-drunk, his toast barely touched. Smudges of gray line ashen skin just underneath his eyes-eyes streaked with red which blatantly announce his lack of sleep to anyone who cares to look.

She does. And she's fairly certain she doesn't look much better.

Roland is dropped off with Snow who has promised to take both him and Neal to the park, as much an outlet for the woman obsessed with saving a daughter lost to darkness as it is for a rambunctious preschooler. They share a moment, two women, hands intertwined, mutely understanding the steep trail ahead of them both before separating to face what may come their way. The rest of the ride to the hospital is quiet-too quiet, and while Regina is silently thankful that David took it upon himself to escort her untrustworthy sister from her cell to the upper floor, she needs something to distract her-something to distract them both.

Robin is white-knuckled, looking up at the hospital as if it were a dungeon rather than a place of healing.

"You okay?"

The words slide off her tongue, barely more than a whisper. His expression is answer enough.

"Are you?"

She wants to tell him that she is, but they both know better.

"She can't hurt you, you know."

His eyes shut as his head drops to clenched fists on the steering wheel, his resulting exhale so loud it nearly echoes.

"No," he murmurs, licking lips she knows must be dry. "But she can hurt you. She already-"

He stops, looking back at her with an expression so heavy it aches.

"We already did."

Her hand is on his arm, the cool texture of his jacket both smooth and rough under her fingers.

"This is not your fault, Robin. We've gone over this before. Zelena…"

His hand comes to rest on top of hers as he shifts his body in his seat until they are eye to eye.

"I know. I know what she did, believe me. But this whole damn mess still hurts you, Regina, and I'm partially responsible for that child's life."

His words hit their mark, a mark he never meant to create but knows exists all the same, and she tries to swallow, her mouth too dry to conjure any moisture at all.

"Which is why we're here," she breathes. "To see your baby for the first time."

His face creases, and she feels the tremble in his arm, a small but tangible reminder of the hell this man has gone through at the hands of her sister.

"This should be just the two of us, Regina. She-she doesn't have a right…"

He stops and wipes the spittle from his mouth, his words passionate, his tone bordering on desperate. He's shaking now, his entire body wound up tight.

"You're right. She' had no right to violate you like she did, and she has no right to be carrying your child-I'm not disagreeing with you on this."

He looks defeated, a look he tries to cover as best that he can, but the thought of seeing Zelena, of seeing the baby he put in her womb is almost more than she can stomach. She can't imagine what it's doing to him, to relive the other woman's deception, to remember her touch on his skin.

"You don't have to go in, Robin. I can go get the photographs and bring them out here to you."

That gets his attention.

"Do you really think I'd let you go in there and face her alone?"

Before she can conjure an argument, he's out of the car and moving towards her side, opening the door for her, extending his hand, helping her out before drawing her into his body.

"We're doing this together, Regina. Yes, that means that you've chosen to stand by me through all of this mess, but it also means that I stand by you." His fingers are in her hair now, and she leans into him, wishing to God that it was her belly alive with his baby, that seeing his second child for the first time could be something he could celebrate rather than dread. "I know this is just as hard for you as it is for me, even more so."

She shakes her head, pushing back from his warmth.

"It may be just as difficult, but not more. She didn't…" She stops, looking at him directly, watching as he silently gives her permission to speak what hurts. "She didn't rape me."

His forehead is on hers, his hands fisting her blazer.

"Maybe not your body," he breathes. "But she has raped your life." They hold each other in the parking lot without words until they know they must go inside.

The room is sterile and cool, and Regina wishes she'd thought to wear a warmer coat. But he's sweating again, clasping on to her hand, looking guilty, wary, straight-spined and determined as Zelena stares daggers at them from across the room.

"What's the matter, Sis? You don't trust me to be alone with him for ten minutes?"

A barely disguised sneer carries Zelena's taunt straight towards them.

"I don't trust you, period," Regina fires back. "And neither does anyone else in this town. Get used to it"

Zelena huffs but settles back down on to the pillow, holding her mid-drift as a statement that vibrates across the floor. They can do this, she and Robin-Regina believes it, she really does, but it's so cold in this room, Robin is torn, and then a woman walks in and begins the procedure, a small screen lighting up in a mass of gray swirls and fuzzy images, images of life—a life inside her sister's womb.

She thought she'd be ready, that she'd centered and steeled herself enough, that she'd be strong enough, that she could be his rock, his focal point, the woman he needs. But the minute that baby shows up on the screen, the moment Robin's eyes widen in wonder, her stomach cramps like hell.

Then she's on her feet, rushing out the door and towards the bathroom, getting there just seconds before her breakfast pushes its way up her throat and out of her body, certain her retching is loud enough to echo down the hall. She clasps the toilet, spitting as she sobs, as her abdomen aches in its emptiness, as her carefully constructed walls come crashing down around her ankles leaving her raw and completely exposed.

This should be her baby, their baby, not her sister's, not Zelena's. But that will never be, no matter how much she learns to love this baby, no matter how she may try to be his or her mother, it won't be her body that is nurturing new life, it won't be her giving birth to his child.

Her heart is as bitter as the aftertaste in her mouth.

She makes her way out of the bathroom on shaky legs, breathing in deep, wiping her mouth self-consciously as she turns the corner that leads back to the room where he waits. But he's not down the hallway, he's here-waiting on her, his face a mask of concern, his arms open and warm. Then she's in them, clinging to his jacket, feeling him cling to her with the same level of ferocity.

"Why are you here?"

He draws back just far enough to be able to see her.

"Because you're here."

She smiles as tension seeps out her limbs, so very thankful he's here to hold her upright.

"I mean, why aren't you back in there, watching the ultrasound?"

He tucks a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, leaning into her before he speaks, his voice tender and intimate.

"Because you're here. And my place is with you."

Tears pool then, she can't help it, and he hugs her to his chest, allowing his own emotion to grip her with a bit more strength than usual.

"You should be watching the baby," she begins, pausing mid-thought as he leans back and pats his chest.

"I have pictures in my pocket and on my phone." He hangs his head a moment, gently taking her hands. "It's actually better to see the baby without having to listen to Zelena."

She laughs, he chuckles, then they're holding each other again, not caring if anyone walking by is looking or not. They make their way back to the car, and he stops mid-stride to stroke her cheek.

"You can look at them on your own time, you know. Whenever you're ready."

She nods but says nothing.

The photographs are deposited in an envelope and tucked into the drawer of his nightstand, a movement she watches in silence. They have more coffee before they part ways, both making certain the other is alright, neither feeling like themselves, both fighting battles they want the other to know nothing about even as they smile, kiss and touch.

She thinks about the pictures, of the small life whose image is on them, of how it must have felt for Robin to see something so wondrous and magical to his eyes. And she ruined it for him by rushing out of the room, by making him feel even worse for loving a child with his DNA than he already had, She kicks herself the rest of the afternoon, wishing she'd been stronger, more selfless, more like Snow. But she doesn't touch the pictures. She can't-not yet. 

Perhaps not ever.

What if she's never able to look at this child without feeling the sting of betrayal? Her stomach begins to cramp again at the mere possibility.

It's while he's in the shower later that night that she capitulates and opens the draw, her hands trembling as badly as his had earlier. The photographs slide out easily, and they're in her hands now, hands that will cradle this baby whose image she can barely make out.

Oh, God.

A new wave of emotion hits her from out of nowhere, one that quickly pulls her under before allowing her to come up for air. Her thumb strokes over a small head, and she wonders if she's seeing a boy or a girl, a son or a daughter. Does Robin even have a preference? She's never asked him, and she doubts the thought has yet crossed his mind, but as the months move ahead, he will form opinions as his baby grows and develops. Will he want to know the gender before the child is born? Does she? 

How strange-she actually does.

The thought warms her, and she moves on to the next picture, the image of a person about the size of a pea pod a bit blurrier but still quite distinct.

"Who are you, little one?"

She shakes her head at her own question as she moves on to the next image and then the next, nearly missing the fact that her arms now ache more acutely than her womb. Memories of Henry cutting his first tooth, speaking his first words, taking his first steps press in, and she can almost smell him when he'd first been placed him in her arms—all clean, powdery and new. Her breasts begin to pulse with the need to feel life squirming into them again, regardless of whether or not they will ever fill with milk. It hadn't mattered with Henry.

It won't matter with this baby, either. She won't allow it to matter.

Hair color has already been determined, as has height, intelligence, natural inclinations, whether or not this child possesses magic, what size shoe they'll be purchasing for him or her on a thirteenth birthday. There is so much she will have nothing to do with as genetics play out inside another woman's womb.

But as to how this child is raised? Yes. She will have a lot to say in this matter.

She will hold this baby, will rock this baby, will feed, clothe, teach and protect this baby, will keep her safe and with her father if it's the last thing she does. She will make certain there is no question of how deeply she is loved, of her importance, of her special place in both her mother's and her father's hearts. Her soul formulates words before her brain realizes what is happening, and an impassioned almost disbelieving whisper breaks apart as it crosses over her lips, reaching out to a man secretly watching, filling two voids with six simple words.

"I'm going to be your mommy."


	12. Her Bedtime Story

Shit.

He's late for dinner, something he knows will annoy the hell out of Regina. Of course, it isn't his fault that David needed a hand when his truck battery died on the outskirts of town, nor could he control the fact that cell phone service was spotty for some reason out by the town line. But reasoning isn't her forte these days—not when she's eight and a half months pregnant with swollen feet, an aching lower back and recent leg cramps that have been keeping her awake half the night.

And tonight is lasagna night. Of all nights for him to be running late.

The smell of her signature dish hits him as he mounts the front steps, making his stomach rumble loudly enough for him to pause and take notice. What had he had for lunch today? A bologna sandwich that was supposed to have gone into Roland's lunch box? Oh well, thank God for microwaves at least. The ability to warm cold food so quickly with the push of a button still excites him.

He unlocks the door and steps inside, expecting to hear the house alive with sound—voices, the television, Roland's X-box, Regina reprimanding somebody for something. But it's quiet, almost too quiet save a muted whispering coming from the living room.

He turns the corner, taking care to walk as quietly as he can, stopping dead in his tracks at the sight before him. Regina—stretched out on the couch sound asleep, mouth open, shoes off, hands on her rounded stomach with Merida kneeling beside her, reciting a book she knows by heart in a hushed tone.

It's _Goldilocks and The Three Bears_ , he realizes, grinning at the number of times either he or Regina have read it to her. He must always play Papa Bear—Merida insists upon it—while she has perfected three distinctive voices, one for Mama Bear, one for Baby Bear and one that sounds remarkably French for Goldilocks herself. The discovery of the little intruder in Baby Bear's bed turns into a tickle fest more times than not, one that has brought Regina in to calm down pre-bedtime antics more nights than he can count. He angles his head , his heart swelling at the notion that their pint-sized red-headed renegade has read her mother to sleep.

"Hi, Daddy."

She grins up at him, laying the book aside as she stands to her feet. He's been caught spying and extends his arms towards her, catching her up in a hug as she dashes towards him, her favorite lavender nightgown bunching around her legs.

"Shhh," the girl insists. "Mommy's asleep."

"I can see that." He kisses her freckled cheek then, enjoying the dampness of hair that smells like baby shampoo. "Were you reading her a bedtime story?"

She shakes her head, stifling a soft giggle into his shoulder.

"No, silly," she whispers. "I was reading to my baby sister."

She's said things like this throughout Regina's pregnancy, but they always catch him off-guard, making lumps of emotion clog his throat as blue-eyed innocence gazes back at him.

"To your sister, eh?" He pauses as she nods. "And just what does she think of Goldilocks and her furry friends?"

"Oh—she likes them," Merida beams. "Even better than _The Gingerbread Man_."

"Is that so?" The child's conviction is unwavering, and his finger dots her nose, wincing as small fingers pinch his in return. "How is it you know that, Merida?"

Her eyes drop then, her shoulders shrugging, a habit she's recently picked up for reasons unknown whenever someone questions her about the baby.

"I just do."

Fear starts to shine in her eyes, and he won't have that—the child is scared enough by her magic and biological link to a woman whose name she won't even speak.

"Well, I think it's lovely."

Her nose scrunches, and she gives him a look oh so reminiscent of the brunette still snoring softly on the couch.

"Neal says it's weird," she murmurs. "But Auntie Snow says it's a special gift."

"Auntie Snow is right," he returns, making a mental note to thank the woman the next time he sees her. Merida relaxes in his arms somewhat, her arms hanging around his neck. "Not everyone is born with magic as you were, pumpkin. Many people would pay a king's ransom to possess what you were given."

Ginger brows crease as she ponders his words.

"What's it like, Daddy? To not have magic?"

He sighs, wondering how in God's name he can even begin to answer this question.

"It's normal," he finally states with a shrug. "For me, anyway. And for your brothers." Her expression falls at that, but he cups her chin and draws those wide eyes back up to his own. "But not for your mother, or Emma, or Auntie Mal, for that matter. Normal for them and for you is entirely different, Merida, and that's alright. It's lovely, actually. I wish I could sense everything about your baby sister that you can."

She studies him with the seriousness of a child twice her age before leaning in until their noses nearly touch.

"She has magic, too."

Her whisper brushes his cheek, making his heart flutter at her words. It's something he's wondered, how could he not with one magical daughter and Regina for a wife, but hearing it spoken with such certainty, a certainty even Regina hasn't felt both thrills him and makes him pause.

"Then I guess it's a good thing she's got you to show her the ropes."

She pauses, blinking rapidly a few times.

"I guess," she shrugs, her face alight with something that evidently hadn't occurred to her until this moment. "You really think so, Daddy?"

She's biting her lower lip now, a habit she's picked up from both of parents, one that gets to him every time she does it.

"I know so," he breathes.

She kisses his cheek then, tickling his skin with the softness of a moth's wings before sliding down to the floor and skipping back to the book she'd left on the rug. She silently motions for him to come closer, beaming at him when he does before taking a breath and picking up just where she left off. Regina has shifted somewhat, her head now tilted to the side, and he moves to lay a blanket across her bare feet before they turn to icicles. It's then he spies the slight upturn to her mouth, her mouth that is now closed even as her snores have ceased. She's heard their conversation, the sneaky woman, and he can't help but grin down at her as he leans in close and brushes a kiss to her forehead, feeling her move slightly beneath his lips. Her smile is unmistakable, though her eyes remain closed as familiar words in the whispered excitement of a four year old move softly over them.

"Someone's been sleeping in my bed, said Baby Bear. And there she is."


	13. Her Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merida, Regina and Auntie Mal share quite an eventful afternoon.

"Like this, Merida," she instructs, moving forward and kneeling down so she is eye to eye with the child. "You're thinking too hard. Just let your body relax and feel the energy move."

Blue eyes stare back at Maleficent with more than a small amount of wariness as her self-proclaimed aunt opens her palm and gently strokes the lines she finds there.

"That tickles," the girl mutters, making the older woman smile.

"It's supposed to," Maleficent assures her. "That's how inborn magic feels when it's itching to get out."

Small fingers twitch, the need to release what is building internally close to overtaking the girl, and just when Merida thinks she's going to rocket off the ground, her arm is extended, her hand pointed towards a makeshift mannequin just her size that receives the full impact of her magic. There is no sound, but the child's body shakes against the older woman's legs, and she holds the girl steady, trying to remain focused in the brilliant menagerie of an undisciplined yet powerful gift.

The smoke from her hand is silver, dotted with rose-tinged beads that sparkle within its wisps, more veil of light than plume of smoke. It smells of lavender, Maleficent notices, a scent that matches the girls wild curls that spill haphazardly down her back.

"That's it, Merida," she assures her, laying her hands on the child's trembling shoulders. "Let's see now what you've created."

Small eyes are squeezed shut, afraid of seeing damage or something distorted and ugly, something that will remind her of the birth mother she's never known but feels marked by all the same. As the fog lifts, Maleficent laughs, a brilliant, bubbly sound that makes Merida's eyes pop open in wonder.

"What?" the girl questions, looking up to her aunt for answers.

"Just look," Maleficent instructs, pointing in the direction of the mannequin, no longer bare but clothed in an outfit that shimmers in the sunlight streaming in from the nearby windows.

"A Dragon? I made a dragon?"

They walk towards the costume together, hand in hand, both extending their opposite arms towards a body suit scaled in gray, pewter and pink with horns that look as if they've been carved from opal atop a hood just the right size for a girl of nearly five.

"You made a dragon, little one," Maleficent beams, feeling the unworldly lightness of what should be heavy material, gazing back at the child in amazement as the costume sparkles in her clasp. "And a very complicated and detailed dragon costume, at that. You never told me you wanted to be a dragon for Halloween."

The girl bites her lower lip, a lopsided grin unleashing deep dimples inherited from her father.

"I thought about it," she confesses. "Just like I thought about being a football player for trick-or-treating, but Mommy didn't like that idea too much."

"Well, I highly doubt your mother will disapprove of this costume," Maleficent states with more than a bit of awe in her voice. "This is magnificent, Merida."

The girl is bouncing on her heels, wide-eyed and eager yet stunned all the same.

"I don't know how I did it, Auntie Mal."

"You don't have to know," Maleficent assures her, taking a small hand within her own. The feel of it makes her heart ache, the tug of lost years and experiences with her own daughter blurring into the present with this child she has come to love as family. "Sometimes, it's best to let the magic move you. Sometimes, it knows what is needed before you do."

Merida bites her lower lip, scrunching her freckled nose in the process.

"Isn't it dangerous to let it do that?"

There's so much doubt in the girl, fear she recognizes, fear bred from being born a magical being among people who tend to demonize what they themselves don't possess, the fear of being inherently evil because of the choices made by the woman who carried this precious girl in her body while unleashing unholy hell on everyone else around her.

"Not necessarily," Maleficent assures her. "You mind always controls your magic, Merida. If you thoughts and heart are in the right place, your magic will be, as well. You only need worry when your thoughts and emotions are completely out of control. That's when your magic can turn on you."

The child nods once, her little face drawn inward in concentration.

"You need to stop being afraid of yourself, my sweet girl," Maleficent continues. "Trust me. If your magic were something to be feared, your mother and I would have found the means to have blocked it for your own safety." Pink lips part at that, forming a soft "O" shape that speaks of realization. "Now, why don't we go and finish our snack before I take you home in time to get ready for trick-or-treating?"

Red curls bound into the kitchen at that, drawn by the heady combined scent of cinnamon, brown sugar and pumpkin.

They walk back to her own house nearly an hour later, Maleficent diligent in making sure that sticky cheeks and fingers are washed and that the dragon costume is beautifully and securely packaged before they leave. Merida carries it proudly, she notes with a measure of relief, and if anyone they pass has any ill thoughts about either of them, they think better of uttering them out loud.

Good. There's no way in hell she's going to let any prejudiced simpleton with a brain the size of a magic bean ruin this little girl's Halloween. Her own fingers twitch as she scans the streets with a scowl.

Merida lets herself in, bounding into her house with excited cries of _Mommy. Daddy, look what I made_ flying from her lips. Maleficent steps in behind her, careful to close the door as she hears Regina make her way down the staircase, the younger woman's belly swollen and hard as the last stages of pregnancy make themselves known. She looks tired, Maleficent notices, a bit paler than usual, and she moves closer to the staircase as Merida dashes towards her mother.

It's then that everything freezes—literally.

Silver smoke wafts over them, the scent of lavender permeating the room as Regina hangs suspended just above the stairs, her foot having slipped in her eagerness to reach her child, her child who now stands with both arms extended and a look of raw panic in her eyes.

"Let her down gently now, sweetheart," she manages, moving forward and touching the child's shoulders as she had back at her house. "You saved your mother from falling. Now just help her down."

Merida trembles all over, her eyes fixed and unblinking, holding on to her mother with a ferocity well beyond her years. This must be the same instinctive magic that protected Regina from Zelena when Merida was still inside that woman's womb, Maleficent reasons, a protective magic she can't help but believe grew from a combination of her father's inherent nature and the magic that runs in the veins of all the Mills women.

Plums of rose water and what resembles starlight set Regina down on the bottom step, the younger woman grasping the rail, open-mouthed and shaken as her free hand moves instinctively around her middle. But her eyes never leave her daughter's, the connection between these two as strong as what could ever exist between a birth mother and child.

"Merida—you saved us."

The child's body remains immobile, as if she's frightened of what will happen if she lowers her arms, so Maleficent presses on them gently, whispering that it's time to let go, that her mother and baby sister are safe thanks to her, thanks to her magic. Small muscles finally give, and the girl nearly collapses as both women rush to her side and keep her upright. They slowly allow themselves to settle to the ground and huddle together on the floor, a cluster of past, present and future—of purple, black and silver, and words slide off of her tongue before she can stop them, words that shimmer and hover over Regina and Merida before disappearing into their skin.

Merida turns then, facing her aunt with a look of wonder.

"You spoke a blessing over us," she mutters, her lips continuing to work independently of her voice.

"You understood that? What I said?"

Auburn locks bounce as she shakes her head.

"No," Merida replies, resting into her mother's chest as Regina's arms engulf her. "I just felt it."

A tear falls down Regina's cheek, and she kisses Merida's forehead, pressing her face into the unruly nest of ringlets.

"You feel so much, don't you, sweetheart?"

Regina's voice is hoarse as the girl wraps herself around her mother as best she can, burying her head into a chest that's grown to accommodate a new baby, one that now comforts the child born to her from another woman's body.

"Too much sometimes, I think," Maleficent states, seeing Regina nod in agreement as she kisses her daughter once again. Merida doesn't speak, only holds on to her mother, and it's beautiful, this scene playing out in front of her, something Maleficent knows Regina never had with Cora, something she herself was denied with Lily—the freedom to love and be loved without judgment from the one whose opinion matters most.

It's then that Regina's mouth falls open with a low, guttural sound followed by a gasp of some sort, one accompanied by rounded eyes and furrowed brows as dark eyes gaze directly into hers.

"What is it?" Maleficent asks, helping her friend to her feet, her question answered wordlessly as she spies a small puddle on the floor where Regina had just been kneeling. Merida sees it, too, and she looks frightened again, placing her hands on her mother's stomach just as the other woman is able to formulate words.

"The baby's coming," Regina states, her eyes finding and locking with those of her husband who has just walked in the front door, both boys gaping open-mouthed by his side. They all stand frozen in time for a moment, that is until Roland tugs off his beanie and crosses his arms in an exaggerated pout.

"Does this mean we don't get to go trick-or-treating?" the boys asks, ducking as both his father and step-brother give him a sound whack on the head.


	14. Her Christmas

"They're still at it."

Robin's words are whispered so as to not wake the slumbering red-head snuggled into one side and the finally-asleep infant now snuggled into her mother's chest on the other side of the couch.

"I know," Regina breathes, stroking the sparse, dark strands on the baby's head. "That art kit was an inspired idea."

"I wonder what they're creating over there?" Robin questions. "They've been at it for an hour at least."

Henry and Roland sit at the table, hovering over the surface, completely absorbed in paints and colored pencils as they discuss something concerning what looks to be a shared work of art.

"Who knows? When it comes to those two, the sky's the limit."

Robin chuckles softly as Merida snuggles into him, burying her face into his chest another measure, prompting him to kiss the top of her head and adjust the blanket around her.

"I'm glad her fever finally broke last night," he continues. "Rotten luck catching the flu just before Christmas." He touches her forehead, reassuring himself that she still feels cool to the touch as he continues rubbing her back through the blanket.

"I know," Regina returns. "Let's just hope it's made its final round in this household."

Merida had been the third to get sick, preceded by Henry and her father. Thus far, Regina, Roland and Baby Audra had managed to stay healthy thanks to tireless precautions and an exorbitant amount of Lysol spraying and hand-washing.

Nobody was taking any unnecessary chances within the Mills-Locksley family, especially with a two month old in the house.

"I think she was more disappointed about not being able to exchange gifts with Neal than anything," Robin says. "She was rather proud of the stick sword she made for him."

"As she should be," Regina returns. "Although even if she were completely well, she couldn't have given it to him today now that he's sick."

"They've all had it now, haven't they?"

"Yes," Regina sighs, touching her lips down to Audra's soft head. "Emma and Killian included. I blame that family for starting this whole flu epidemic anyway. Charming would be the first one to come down with it, and I'm sure that his being contagious didn't stop Snow from being all lovey-dovey with him for one second."

"Is Boo still asleep?"

They'd named their daughter Audra Rose, but since she'd been born during the final hours of Halloween, her brothers had unceremoniously nicknamed her "Boo".

"Like the proverbial baby," Regina breathes.

"Thank God," Robin utters, having bounced the grumpy infant on his shoulder earlier this evening until his arms ached. "What a Christmas."

Regina smiles at his observation, adjusting her body as best she can while holding a baby who happens to be a very temperamental sleeper. She casts a glance towards the small puppet stage that had been a gift from Maleficent, a gift that had lifted Merida's spirits so high that the marionettes that came with it began to levitate the moment she'd laid eyes on it. Only Roland had been disappointed with the gift, having told his little sister repeatedly that he bet their Auntie Mal would be giving them a pet dragon for Christmas.

Regina had had a private conversation with the other woman a few days ago to ensure that wasn't so.

Merida and her brothers had proceeded to entertain the adults with their own renditions of _The Nutcracker_ and _A Christmas Carol_ , one of the highlights being Roland's attempt at a British accent to give voice to Ebenezer Scrooge. Dessert and _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_ had followed, the house growing excessively quiet when the boys took to drawing and the Locksley girls fell asleep on top of their parents.

"Thank you for my gift, by the way."

Regina shoots him a subtle glance.

"You already thanked me."

"I know," he grins. "But I know you didn't particularly want a dog in the house."

She casts her eyes down at the large black and brown body lying at Robin's feet just as soulful brown eyes gaze back up at her.

"No, I didn't," she admits. "Especially a dog named Kitty. But I know how badly you did. Besides, she's hardly left Merida's side all day."

"That's because she senses that Merida's been sick," Robin says. "Animals do, you know. They watch out for their humans."

"But she just got here," Regina observes. "Kitty has only been our dog for a day. How is it she's already so in tune with our children."

He hangs his head sheepishly.

"Kitty and Merida have met before."

Her eyes widen as understanding takes root.

"Go on."

"The kids went with me to the shelter on several occasions to visit her," he confesses, pausing as Merida shifts against his chest. "Merida fell in love with Kitty on sight. I was a bit apprehensive about the thought of bringing a fully-grown Rottweiler into the house, but Merida…" He stops, looking her directly in the eye. "Merida told me that she was an old and gentle soul who liked to watch out for children and that she would take care of her family. Regina, you know how Meri is when she senses things, how she gets that serene look on her face and speaks more like a grown woman than a little girl."

She's tongue-tied for a moment, blown away again by the innate and beautiful magic her oldest daughter possesses.

"I do," she whispers, looking down at the child Merida sensed within her mother's womb, the child she knew to be a girl before Regina had even confirmed her pregnancy. "She's always right when she has those feelings."

Robin nods.

"That she is."

Kitty stirs slightly as Henry and Roland approach, carrying a sketch with them they display with pride.

"It's our family," Regina states, leaning forward to better see the figures drawn with love. There's Robin holding Merida on his back with Henry at his side. Then there's her with Boo in one arm and the other wrapped around Roland's shoulder. Kitty stands in front of them, tongue dropping out of an open mouth in what looks to be a canine smile. "I love it, boys. But who are they?"

She points to some brown and white figures milling in the distance just behind where she and Roland are standing.

"Those are Roland's cats," Henry states with a shrug. "The ones he keeps in the shed."

The room goes deathly silent.

"Roland has cats?" Regina questions, sitting up an inch taller. "In the shed?"

Robin is biting his lower lip, looking far too guilty for her liking.

"Did you know about this?"

Both boys shoot him a directly look.

"Well," he begins, trying to remain quiet about clearing his throat. "Technically, I suppose…I did."

"And nobody thought that perhaps I should be told?"

Boo's face scrunches up, the baby seeming to sense her mother's shift in mood. Regina forces her spine to relax back into the sofa, sliding the child's preferred pacifier between pink lips until she settles back down.

"We were all afraid you might say no," Henry finally ventured, giving his mom that half-smile that sometimes allowed him to get away with far more than he should.

"And they're a family, Mom," Roland cut in quickly. "A mama cat and her three kittens–Sparky, Scooter and Spike. You can't break up a family. Families are special and stay together, at least, that's what you always say."

She's been effectively backed into a corner by the men in her life, knowing that a certain, slumbering red-head has most likely been a part of their shenanigans as well. But as three pairs of eyes stare back at her–four, if she includes Kitty's, she knows there's no way in this realm or any other she'll be able to refuse them.

"They stay in the shed," she states, unable to hide her smile the moment Roland's face breaks into an earth-shattering grin. "And no more animals in the house. Got it?"

"Got it," Henry and Robin repeat as Kitty lays her head back down on the floor.

"Not even a dragon?" Roland asks, hustled out of the room by his big brother before Regina can change her mind.


	15. Her Valentine

The table is littered with construction paper hearts trimmed with doilies and adorned with glitter. Names are proudly written on each valentine in a careful, oversized script, the writing tool of choice being a metallic sharpie Merida had begged her father to purchase for her earlier that week.

It's clear that Merida Grace Locksley had gone all out for Valentines Day.

They're all still in their pajamas, their bellies stuffed with applewood-smoked bacon and red velvet pancakes piled with homemade whipped cream. Robin wonders if the house has ever smelled this delicious as he takes another sip of his French Roast.

Boo lets out a squeal of protest as the fork she's trying to lay her hands on is settled just beyond her reach by her mother. Regina bounces the baby on her lap as she presses Boo's new stuffed rabbit into her chubby grasp, and Robin can't help but chuckle as an ear is promptly shoved into his daughter's gummy mouth.

Distraction accomplished. One point for Mommy.

He shoots Regina a wink from across the table, and she responds with a warm, sleepy smile as she runs her fingers through dark hair styled just the way he likes it-uncombed and disheveled, the way it looks when she falls asleep in his arms after finally finding time for a quick round of sex as they somehow managed to do last night.

With four children in the house, one of them being an infant, quickies are all they seem to have time for these days. But he'll take them-by God, he'll take them.

This is life at its finest, he thinks. He knows it's far more than he deserves, but he accepts it gratefully, relishing every calm and frantic moment, knowing he'll miss the noise and the chaos one day when all of their children are grown.

"You smell good, Henry."

It's Merida who has made the observation, and Henry jumps a fraction in his seat, suddenly realizing he's now the center of attention.

"You do smell good," Regina says as she shifts Boo closer into her chest. "Are you wearing cologne?"

Roland giggles as his big brother's ears turn bright red.

"Yeah," Henry shrugs, attempting to sound unaffected but failing miserably. He sighs as his mother quirks a brow in his direction, knowing he'd just as well 'fess up now rather than face the Locksley-Mills interrogation squad. "Amelia gave it to me-for Valentine's Day."

"Ooooo," Roland teases, artfully dodging a scalding glance from his older brother. "A present from your girlfriend."

"Amelia has good taste," Robin cuts in, feeling sorry for his stepson. He remembers all too well the teasing he'd endured from his own brother and cousins when he'd once given a bouquet of weeds to a nobleman's daughter. "Did she like the gift you gave her?"

"What gift?" Regina questions, her eyes somehow managing to round and narrow at the same time. "You bought a gift for Amelia without consulting me?"

"He consulted me, thank you," Robin interjects as he raises his mug to his lips. "Man to man."

"You mean teenager to outlaw," Regina tosses back, pressing her lips together as Boo lets out an ear piercing squeal. Henry swallows audibly, sinking in his seat as if facing a firing squad.

"I got her a sketchbook and a set of colored pencils," Henry mutters, avoiding his mother's gaze. "Since she loves to draw so much."

Robin watches as Regina cocks her head in grudging acknowledgment of a job well done.

"That's a great present, Henry," Merida beams, her curls bouncing in a wild array around her head. "You did good."

"Well," Regina corrects, rolling her eyes as Boo tosses her rabbit to the floor and tries once again to reach for the forbidden utensil. "He did well."

"I'm glad you think so, Mom," Henry states, a small grin emerging across his face. "I thought you'd approve."

"That's not what I meant," Regina sighs as Roland hands Boo her damp bunny. Henry freezes, and Robin shoots his wife a calming gaze, inclining his head just so in Henry's direction. "But it is a...a nice choice, Henry. You did well."

Robin smiles as the boy sits up two feet taller.

"Didn't you get her any flowers?" Roland asks, ducking as Boo tosses the rabbit at his head. "All men know you're supposed to give girls flowers on Valentines Day. Right, Dad?"

A stunning bouquet of red roses and purple lavender sit proudly in a crystal vase on the countertop just behind them. He meets his wife's gaze, warmed by the genuine smile she's wearing just for him.

"Absolutely, Roland," Robin states, tossing a wink at his beaming, freckle-faced red-head whose bouquet of pink carnations sits displayed proudly to the right of her mother's flowers. Boo's matching bouquet sits just to the left of the roses.

"I did, actually," Henry admits with a shrug. "Daisies. They're Amelia's favorite."

Robin smiles broadly at this, proud of his stepson's gallantry and his taste in women.

"Well done, indeed," he states, patting Henry on the back, daring Regina to say anything to the contrary. She doesn't.

"And I got some yellow flowers for Penny," Roland says, practically making Regina choke on her coffee.

"Penny?" Robin questions, turning to face his rather shaggy-looking son. "Who, may I ask is Penny?"

"Her parents run the pet shop," Roland states, completely unfazed by his parents' incredulous stares. "She's in my class at school, and she can outrun all of the boys."

"Well if you don't have magic," Regina utters, actually drawing a chuckle out of Henry.

"I can outrun boys, too," Merida insists, looking somewhat offended that she wasn't included in Roland's statement.

"Are you and Amelia still okay to babysit tonight?"

Robin's question to Henry steals both his wife's and daughter's attention.

"Oooh, Daddy. Are you taking Mommy on a date?"

Regina gazes back at him, her expression both surprised and curious.

"Indeed, I am, Merida," Robin replies, grinning as his wife blinks rapidly in response. "I'm planning on taking your mother out for a first class Valentine's dinner." The truth is that they haven't been on a date since Boo was born. It's past time for his wife to be properly appreciated and romanced.

"Oh, brother," Roland utters, handing the bedraggled bunny back to his baby sister. "Here we go again."

"Says the boy who just gave flowers to Penny," Henry retorts, smiling at the face Roland makes back at him from across the table.

"And just when were you planning on telling me about these plans?" Regina questions as Boo stuffs the rabbit back into her mouth. "Was I supposed to poof myself into dress at the very last minute?"

"Just like Cinderella!" Merida exclaims, clapping her hands. "Oh, do it, Mommy! We can ask Auntie Mal to be your fairy godmother. Please! Maybe Kitty can be your horse!"

The dog looks up at the humans before stretching out again by the back door and closing her eyes. Robin chuckles audibly, staring back at his wife. If anyone besides one of her children had made such an audacious suggestion, he's certain they'd be charred to a crisp by now.

"I'm capable of dressing myself, Merida," Regina replies, attempting another sip of her coffee. "I've been doing it for years."

"I know, Mommy, but just think!" Merida beams. "You could be poofed into a princess in front of everybody, and Daddy could take you out to dinner in a pumpkin carriage. You could wear glass slippers and everything!"

The look Regina shoots him screams _Dont' even think about it, thief._

"This might just work, Meri," he states, watching in amusement as his wife's eyes widen in panic. "I've always wondered just how a pumpkin carriage would ride."

"Not as good as other things you like to ride," Regina utters between her teeth. Henry stands up at that, scooting his chair beneath the table.

"I think I'll go make sure Amelia's good to babysit tonight," the boy mumbles, not looking at his mother as he exits the kitchen. "See you later."

"Could be a nice warm-up, though," Robin teases back, hoping Roland hasn't yet caught on to their double-entendre. "Ease the way, so to speak." Her brow quirks up a couple of notches.

"I'm not that easy," Regina hums, her thumb now gliding suggestively along the rim of her mug.

"Easy come, easy go," Robin tosses back with a flick of his eyebrows, watching a slight flush crawl up Regina's neck.

"You guys are so weird," Roland sighs as he stands and takes his plate to the sink. "I'm gonna go play _Mario Kart._ "

"After you make your bed," Regina shoots back. Roland's shoulders slump in resigned acceptance. "And they'll be no passage to ease for you if you even try to make me look like some helpless princess waiting for her prince charming. That's Snow's thing, not mine."

He leans across the table and takes her free hand within his own, stroking her knuckles as she eyes him with suspicion.

"I have no use for princesses, my lady," he breathes, standing just enough to drop a kiss to her hand. "Not when I'm married to the queen."

One side of her mouth draws up in a half-smile.

"All right, then," Regina states. "So no fairy godmother and carriage?"

"No fairy godmother and carriage," he concedes, smiling until a small foot stamps in frustration bside them.

"There goes my idea," Merida utters as she stands and heads to the sink. She turns quickly after depositing her plate, her face alight in excitement. "How about a magic carpet instead?!"

She's dashing up the stairs before either of them can form a response.

"You know she's probably calling Mal right now," Robin remarks, finishing off his coffee before setting his mug on the table.

"Don't get any ideas, Romeo," Regina mutters as Boo drops her rabbit yet again. "I'm not wearing any I Dream of Jeannie get-up, so don't even go there."

He grins then, sliding into Merida's abandoned chair right beside his wife and leaning in for a soft kiss.

"As long as I get to rub your lantern," he teases, kissing her open-mouthed before any other protests can be launched.


	16. Her Baby Sister

When Henry had rolled over for the first time, Regina had grabbed her camcorder and promptly returned him to his stomach, watching with baited breath until he'd done it again. She'd captured it on camera at least three times, her breathless encouragement and _Good job, Henry's_ serving as an ecstatic commentary to this milestone that she'd played back over and over again while lying alone in her bed that night.

When it had been Merida's turn, Roland had been the one who excitedly announced his sister's accomplishment, prompting both of her parents to run into the family room with phones at the ready. She'd knelt down beside her daughter, tickling her belly before flipping her over again, much to the girl's chagrin. Merida had let out a whelp of protest before stubbornly flipping herself onto her back where she was met by the applause and smiles of her family, making her grin and kick her legs in a staccato accompaniment to all of the praise surrounding her.

But she watches in silence from the doorway as her youngest child rolls over for the first time, smiling through tears at the scene playing out in front of her on the living room floor.

"Boo!" Merida exclaims, completely ignorant of her mother's presence. "You did it! You rolled over all by yourself!"

Red, tangled curls bounce as Merida claps her hands, and Regina can't help but chuckle silently as Boo tries to imitate her big sister, thrusting chubby hands towards each other as a toothless grin spreads across her face.

It's almost too much.

_This is how it should have been. Zelena and I should have grown up together._

Where would they be now if Zelena hadn't been abandoned by Cora, if she hadn't become intent upon destroying her sister's life? Where would she be if she'd never been forced to marry the king and had turned away from evil? She wouldn't be here in Storybrooke, she thinks, nor would she have Henry or Merida in her life, even if she and Robin had found each other, even if Roland and Boo had still been theirs in a different reality. Her head begins to throb as such thoughts begin to pull her towards the shifting mists of what if's and lost opportunities, of page twenty-three's and stable boys who'd lived, of young Snow Whites and the lure of dark magic.

Merida's laughter draws her back into Storybrooke.

She'll keep her current life, she knows this, even with it's pain and lingering scars, it's nightmares and recurring judgments for old sins that can never be completely erased. For to do otherwise would mean the loss of one of her children.

And they are her everything.

Boo lets out a squeal of some sort as Merida dangles her stuffed rabbit over the baby's head, and Regina watches as ginger merges beautifully with black. How perfectly they compliment each other, the contrast between them both bold and hypnotic, the color scheme of her life that now makes her smile rather than wince. Yet she feels a stab of pain at the legacy of death and destruction laid out for both her and her sister by a mother more concerned with power than the well-being of her daughters.

_Don't let me be her. Don't ever let me be my mother._

It is still her life's fear that plays out like a twisted drone in the backdrop of her daily existence.

An arm wraps around her from behind, and she leans into the warmth of forest green wool and aftershave, feeling her neck muscles relax on contact. She allows herself to be enveloped by the touch that always grounds her when she finds herself teetering on shifting sand.

"Did I miss something?"

Robin's question tickles her cheek as they watch their girls continue to play on the large blanket spread out over the floor.

"Boo just rolled over," Regina answers. Robin lets out a gasp of acknowledgement before pressing a kiss to her temple.

"Should I go and fetch my phone?"

Merida lets Boo grab her bunny then, and chubby legs pump in and out in triumph.

"In a minute," Regina mutters, her attention still drawn to their daughters' antics, her heart caught up in the mixed miracle of her present and what should have been her past.

"Thank you." His words take her by surprise, and she turns to look at him then, cherishing the scratch of his stubble against her cheek.

"For what?"

His forehead touches her temple as a warm palm settles on her hip.

"For this," he returns. "For them. For our family."

She gazes at him in some confusion, her mouth still open as she licks her lips.

"You had something to do with them, too," she states, grinning as he bites his bottom lip.

"I know," he breathes, his face becoming serious once again. "But you chose to be Meri's mother. You didn't have to do that, Regina."

Her chest constricts as Merida starts to sing _The Itsy Bitsy Spider_ , and she drops her head to her chest, doing her best to rein in emotions threatening to overwhelm her.

"It was the right choice, Robin. And one I've never regretted."

He draws her into the crook of his neck and shoulder, cupping her head as he drops a light kiss on to her cheek. She lays her palm on his chest, soaking in all that he is as she remembers all they've overcome.

"I just wish…" she pauses, speaking into his sweater. "I just wish Zelena and I could have had this when we were children."

She feels rather than hears his grunt and raises her head to gage his reaction. He's looking at her as if she's a marvel, the way he'd looked at her on their wedding day, the way he'd gazed at her when Merida first called her Mama, the way he'd stared at her when they'd made love after she'd told him they were expecting Boo.

"I know," he says. "But you're fixing what your mother fractured, Regina. You're giving two Mills sisters the chance to love and be loved simply for who they are, and that alone makes you one hell of a mother."

Her heart swells in her chest until her ribs ache, until memories of her mother interfere, until she's sliding down into arms that cherish her and words that build her up.

"I just don't ever want to be like her-like my mother."

Her confessions hovers between them, but he brushes it aside with a smile and a touch, the way he always does.

"You're not," he assures her. "You're not Cora, just as Merida isn't Zelena and Boo isn't you." Her arms slide around his waist as he hugs her close. "All of our children are individuals, made up of their own mix of biology and circumstances. But we love them all, we're lucky to have them all, just as they are lucky to have you as a mother." He breathes into her hair, her neck warming under the contact, her heart warming to the measure of his words. "And I wouldn't have our family any other way."

She draws back far enough to look at him before casting a glimpse at Merida holding Boo's bunny over the baby's head yet again.

"Neither would I," she mutters with a half smile, pressing this memory into her mind with the clarity of a photograph. "Now why don't you go and get your phone."


	17. Her Hair

Sometimes being a big brother is a pain in the keister.

Sure, he loves Roland and his little sisters, but it does get tiring finding his stuff out of order and even out of his room, discovering that his favorite colored pencils have been chewed on and broken, noticing that some of his socks have been involuntarily turned into puppets without his permission.

Yes. There had definitely been advantages to being an only child.

"Roland!" Henry yells again, sick of this game of hide and seek that crossed the border between fun and frustration about fifteen minutes ago. "Merida! Where are you?"

They knew better than to run off during his watch, but they'd done it anyway. He's tired of this need Roland has to stump Henry's ability to find him and wishes that Meri still preferred tattling on her brother to following him blindly into trouble.

"Come out now," he insists, looking around the clearing. "Mom's going to be mad when she finds out that you ran off again."

If that doesn't scare those two trouble makers, nothing will.

It's then that he notices the smell, an odor he's never before noticed in Storybrooke. He allows his nose to guide him over fallen branches and grass until he's standing in front of his mother's vault, watching as something eerily familiar oozes through its cracks. It's silver smoke that shimmers a pale pink when disturbed by the wind, and he smells the odor even stronger now, knowing without a doubt that his little sister is the culprit.

The smoke is the color of Merida's magic. And Merida, it would seem, is inside their mother's vault. This is not good.

He runs to the door and knocks, surprised as it swings open with the slightest touch. He moves inside, ducking to avoid a bright purple bat as it whizzes past his head.

"Hey!" Henry cries as yet another bat flies in his direction. "What's going on here?"

Merida shrieks as silver smoke plumes out of her hands, a makeshift net hovering in the air just long enough to tease but nowhere near long enough to capture the flying rodents.

"Help me, Henry!" she cries, crying out as a red and yellow bat each grab one side of her hair and begin to pull. She then yells at the beasts and tries to swat them away, finally managing to toss one of them in Roland's direction, making him cry out in surprise.

His younger brother has his bow and arrow at the ready, but the bats are flying far too erratically for Roland to steady his aim, and an arrow goes flying into an urn of some sort, knocking it to the ground with a thud that makes Henry's heart plummet.

"What was that?"

He stares hard at both Merida and Roland who have frozen in place even with all of the chaos surrounding them. A dark vapor begins to rise from the floor, and it begins to solidify before their eyes.

"We need to get out of here," Roland utters, his arrow still taut. "Now."

"But Mommy's vault," Merida cries, her protest cut off by a rumble that shakes the floor.

"I think our lives are more important, Meri," Roland insists as Henry swoops the girl up in his arms, only then noticing that her hair was wet and sticky. Was she bleeding? Had those bats actually drawn blood? It couldn't be blood, though. Blood wasn't...purple.

They turn back towards the exit only to watch in horror as the vapor flies in front of it before they can take one step, effectively blocking their only way out as it begins to take on a definite form.

"Crap," Henry mutters as he sets Merida down and pushes her behind him. "It's a bear."

"A Devil Bear, you mean," Merida whispers. Cold, red eyes glare at them as the unmistakable outline of a grizzly growls in their direction.

"What is mom doing with a Devil Bear in her vault?" Roland manages as the three of them step backwards cautiously.

"Probably keeping it away from you, lame brain," Henry hisses. "There's a reason she's forbidden us to come down here without her."

The bear lowers himself to stand on all fours, and he begins to move in their direction, teeth bared and gleaming, black vapors continually rising from its fur.

"Do something, Meri!" Roland cries, his voice now two octaves higher than usual. "Use your magic!"

But Merida shakes her head as tears begin to streak down her face.

"I don't know what to do!" she insists, even as the bear looms closer. "I don't know what…"

She's cut off by high pitched squeaks as the bats begin their dive-bombing yet again, and they all duck quickly, watching in amazement as the bats make the bear their new target. The red and yellow bats attack from the left, while a pink one tackles the grizzly head-first and a purple one goes for the tail, making the beast growl as he raises his two front paws and begins trying to knock them away.

"Tell me I'm not really seeing this," Roland whispers, earning himself a quick smack on the head from his big brother. The bear roars then, an ear-splitting, heart-stopping sound that takes Henry's breath and prompts him to grab onto both of his siblings.

"Don't move," he murmurs as the bear stops fighting the colored bats and looks directly at him. "Not a single muscle." His heart is pounding so hard he can't hear, and he feels Merida trembling behind him, notes the iciness of Roland's skin. It can't end like this, Henry thinks, not like this. Not for all three of them.

Then there's a whoosh and a thud, and the bear bursts into what must be a million pieces right before their eyes, falling like ash to the floor of the vault as the pesky bats fly out the now open door right past their mother.

Their mother. Henry's never been so relieved and so terrified in his life.

She just stands there, looking at them, trying to breathe, her body shaking with what Henry recognizes as both rage and terror. He releases his hold on the other two, swallowing and taking a step in her direction, stopping as a blop of yellow goo falls on his head from the ceiling.

"Henry Daniel Mills-stop right there."

He freezes in his tracks, his pulse just as deafening as it had been when he'd been facing the bear.

"What the hell are you doing in here?"

He's never heard her curse in front of Merida-she rarely lets loose in front of him. But she's trembling, a testament to the very real danger the three of them had just escaped.

"I…" Henry begins, pausing to swallow as his mother stares him down. "I was…"

"He was looking for us."

Roland steps forward, his head hung low, his eyes unable to meet his mother's as her nostrils continue to flare.

"And why, Roland Christopher Locksley, did Henry have to come into my vault, a place I've specifically told you not to disturb, to find you?"

He hears his brother swallow and feels sorry for him, in spite of the fact that this was all his fault. Roland's eyes remain on the floor, and he shrugs, clearly ashamed but either unwilling or unable to formulate an answer.

"I'll deal with you when we get home," she utters, each word smacking them both with the force of a lead pipe. Roland sighs and steels himself to walk by their mother, knowing that things are going to get ugly when she uses their full names. Henry walks behind his brother, noting how his mom's fists still clench-in and out-over and over. He can't feel magic, but he can sense fear, and its radiating off of her in palpable waves.

They'd scared her to death.

He emerges into the waning daylight and watches as Roland slumps off towards their house, looking very much like a prisoner bound for the gallows. He understands the feeling. When your mom is the former evil queen, the thought of what consequences might be headed your way when you've disobeyed one of her edicts is rather intimidating, even if said consequence is deserved. Henry sighs and starts to follow his brother but feels something cut into his foot.

Ugh. Something has gotten into his shoe.

He kneels to untie his sneakers and shake out a piece of debris when he hears his mother's voice. She's still angry, that's obvious, but her tone has softened somewhat now that she's alone with Merida.

"Let's go home," she instructs the girl. "You and I need to have a talk." A plume of purple smoke wafts through the exit and into the air around him, making him cough into his sleeve. His mother has probably just cleaned up the mess with a wave of her hand. If only he could do that with his room.

But he hears a sniffle, and his heart melts. Meri's crying. He hates it when she cries.

"This wasn't their fault, Mommy. It was mine."

The words are broken, chopped fragments, separated by bouts of tears. He hears his mother's heels clicking on stone, letting him know she's heading in Merida's direction.

"Merida Grace," Regina states. "What in God's name were you thinking using magic down here?"

For several seconds, the only sounds he hears are sniffles and gulps. Then Merida coughs and sniffs once more as she tries to answer their mother.

"I just wanted...to fix...my hair."

"I don't understand," Regina says, sighing loudly enough for Henry to hear. "Why would you need to break into my vault to fix your hair?"

Merida sputters out another cough, her breath hitching with every inhale.

"Because I was trying to change it," she manages, pausing to sniff loudly. "To make it like yours."

Henry stops, his fingers still on his laces as he begins to piece fragmented facts together. The glops of color in Merida's hair, the bats that should have been black-she'd been trying to change herself, to disguise the hair that made her look like someone they'd all rather forget.

"We've discussed this, sweetheart," Regina states. "There's nothing wrong with your hair. It's perfect just the way it is."

His heart sinks as the reality of his sister's insecurities hit home.

"But it's...it's like hers," Merida breathes. "Like Zelena's."

Meri rarely says her biological mother's name, and when she does, it's with a measured amount of shame, the same shame Henry hears in her voice now.

"That's true," Regina says. "But there was nothing bad about her hair. It was her choices and actions that hurt people. Hair is just hair, and yours is perfect just the way it is."

"It's not fair, though," Merida argues. "Boo has hair like yours, so does Roland. And Henry's hair is dark, too, even though you 'dopted them just like you 'dopted me."

"That's because Roland's biological mother had curly black hair," Regina explains. "And Henry's father had dark hair."

"And I got my red curly hair from her," Merida interjects. "I don't want anything from her, Mommy. Only you and Daddy. Why couldn't my hair match his instead of hers?"

He hears some shuffling, and he sits down on the grass, careful to remain out of sight as he continues to eavesdrop on a conversation he needs to hear.

"Merida, nobody can control who their parents are or what they're born with," his mother states. "We're given what we're given. It's what we do with it that's important."

"That's what I was doing," Merida says. "Deciding to change my hair to be more like you."

"That's not what I meant," Regina sighs. "I'm not talking about your hair."

"But people make their hair all sorts of colors," Merida insists. "Remember when Auntie Snow dyed hers purple?"

Henry chuckles, muffling the sound as he remembers his grandmother's coloring disaster. She'd been going for auburn highlights and had ended up with lavender hair. Grandpa had been amused. His moms had not.

"And she died it right back," Regina says. "Because her natural color looks much better on her. God only knows what she was thinking when she tried to change it."

"That's because it's black," Merida states. "It's better because it's black like yours and Roland's and Uncle K's."

"Black hair isn't better than red hair, Merida."

"You can say that because you don't look like her, Mommy."

His mom doesn't answer right away. A breeze ruffles his hair as evening announces its arrival.

"No," she finally says. "I don't. I look like my mother."

He sighs, knowing only part of what all his grandmother Cora did to his mom. And what he knows it wasn't pretty.

"Do you remember what I told you about her, Merida?"

His little sister coughs again.

"That she hurt a lot of people," Merida answers. "That she hurt you."

"That's right," Regina concurs. "And I look like her-a lot like her." She pauses to clear her throat. "Am I mean to you, Merida? Or to Roland or Boo?"

His heart squeezes at the omission of his own name. She still hasn't forgiven herself for all that happened between them when he first brought Emma to town.

"No," Merida answers.

"So looking like my mother doesn't make me act like my mother?"

He smiles at the simplicity of his mom's argument.

"No," Merida admits. "It doesn't."

It's silent again, and he wonders if his mother is holding Meri's chin, something she does when she wants to make certain her children understand every word she says.

"You're not like Zelena," Regina says. "Even though you have her hair. You're far more like your father."

There's a round of sniffing Henry is sure comes from both of them.

"That's funny," Merida replies. "He tells me I'm just like you."

They both laugh then, a soft, hiccupped sort of sound, and Henry smiles as he pushes himself up, knowing he needs to make himself scarce before they decide to leave the vault. But he can't get Meri's fears out of his head as he cuts through their yard and heads back into the kitchen. He wonders what he can do to help her see that she's special just as she is, something that will help her remember this fact even on days when it's hard.

He knows what it is to fear your own biology. Not everyone has The Dark One for a grandpa or has had to watch as his mother takes his place. Yeah-he understands his little sister, and there's no way in Hades he's going to let her go through this alone.

It hits him then just what he needs to do, and he smiles as he reaches for a Coke from the refrigerator and moves to a chair. It will take some convincing, a lot of planning and a bit of work, but it will all be worth it in the end.

Yeah-his plan will work. He's certain of it.


	18. Operation Cardinal

Henry smiles as he looks things over, noting that everything and everyone seem to be right where they need to be. Some look nervous, others are laughing, and he gives his mother a quick nod as she taps her watch and hands Boo over to David before taking center stage. He slides his toboggan over his ears and gives it a firm tug as he walks out the door to Granny's Diner and back into March's bluster. His scalp tingles as the wind practically knocks his bicycle out of his grasp.

There were days he thinks that travelling by broom could actually come in handy.

He pedals back home, fighting the wind all the way, and he decides then and there that he'll just drive everyone back to Granny's. Robin's far more likely to turn the car keys over to him than his mom is, and he is a licensed driver now.

He finds both his step-dad and Meri in the kitchen playing Connect Four, and he smiles at his sister's boisterous squeal as she pumps her fists in triumph.

"Beat you again, Daddy," Merida beams. Robin tosses his arms in the air and looks at Henry in mock resignation.

"I can't beat her," he says as he begins to put the game pieces away.

"Neither can I," Henry states. "And I've been playing Connect Four since I was a kid."

"Your mother would argue that you are still a kid," Robin tosses back as he stands and reaches for his jacket.

"She also pretends that I don't have to shave and still need help picking out my own clothes," Henry says, earning himself a nod from Robin. "Are you ready?"

Merida looks up at him and back to her father as a look of confusion crosses over her face.

"Are you leaving, Daddy?"

Robin walks over to her and taps her freckled nose.

"We're leaving, Peanut," he answers. "Henry and I thought we might treat you to lunch at Granny's today."

Merida's grin returns.

"Can I get chili fries?" she asks. "And an ice cream sundae?"

"Aren't we the sneaky one," Robin utters, pointing at the pint-sized redhead. "You know your mother will have my hide if she hears that you had all of that junk food in one sitting."

"Then we just won't tell her," Merida states, leaning in towards her father. "Henry won't tell on us-will you Henry?"

"Only if I can steal a chili fry," Henry returns, laughing as she plants her hands on her hips and rolls her eyes in his direction. She really is so much like their mom.

Robin puts his arm around Henry's shoulder as Merida races off to fetch her jacket and shoes.

"Everything all set?"

Henry smiles back at him and wiggles his brows.

"Operation Cardinal is a go," he answers, watching Robin smile and rub his hands together in anticipation.

"This really is an inspired idea, Henry. I only hope it works."

"So do I," Henry says, hoping he hasn't misread what his sister needs. "And I really think it will."

Robin grabs his hat and slides it over his head and ears, looking to his step-son for approval. Henry tosses him a thumbs up just as Merida runs back into the room.

"Chili fries here we come!" she announces with gusto as the three of them make their way out the front door.

Robin does let Henry drive, muttering something about other things they didn't need to tell his mother, and they arrive at the diner in quick order.

"It's crowded today," Merida observes as she unbuckles her seatbelt. "Do you think we'll find a table, Daddy?"

"I'm sure they'll make room for us, Peanut," Robin replies as he helps her out of the back seat. Henry follows behind them, feeling bubbles in his stomach from anticipation and nerves. What if he's wrong? What if this just upsets Meri rather than helps her? Had he really considered all of the consequences before…

"Surprise!"

Well-it's too late to change anything now.

Merida stands stock still in the doorway, her hand locked into Robin's as she stares into the diner. Henry laughs, he can't help it, because everyone inside looks absolutely perfect and utterly, utterly ridiculous.

"What happened to your hair?"

Merida's question draws their mother towards them with an almost unrecognizable Roland toting an odd-looking Boo right behind her.

"We changed it," Regina answers, her expression giving nothing away. "We all decided we wanted our hair to look like yours."

Henry takes off his hat then, feeling foreign curls tumble down around his face. Merida looks up at him, her mouth gaping open.

"I was tired of dark hair," Henry states with a shrug, and he wonders just how big Meri's eyes can grow.

"And I was tired of mine, too."

Merida stares up at her father whose curly red tresses that fall to his shoulder make Regina and Roland snigger.

"Daddy?"

He swoops her up then and faces her toward the crowd in the diner as more caps and hats are tossed aside and the room becomes alight with sea of ginger.

"Not just Daddy," Robin utters as Merida touches one of his curls. "And not just Mommy either."

Freckles cinch themselves together as Merida's face screws up. Henry holds his breath, not certain if she's about laugh, scream or cry. But she doesn't do any of those things as her gaze travels from Emma to Snow to David and Baby Neal. Instead she looks at her mother whose hair is as red and long as Merida's before fixing her stare right on Henry.

"You people are crazy."

It's David who laughs first, and he's joined almost instantly by over half of the room.

"Maybe we are," Regina says, moving forward and twisting one of Meri's curls around her finger. "But no crazier than you are when you want to change the color of yours."

Merida's eyes narrow, and Regina narrows hers back. Then both of them scrunch their noses and lean towards each other until their foreheads practically touch.

"You're silly, Mommy," Merida utters just before throwing her arms around her mother's neck. Henry feels ten feet tall as Regina takes her from Robin and holds her to her chest, kissing the red curls as they sway back and forth. "You changed everybody's hair!"

"I did," Regina confirms, drawing back to look at her daughter. "What do you think?"

Merida looks around the room again before rolling her eyes.

"It's great," she announces, making Henry's chest swell with pride. "But crazy."

It worked. It really, really worked.

"This was all Henry's idea, you know," his mom states, and Merida jerks her head around towards him immediately, her face alight in surprise.

"Operation Cardinal," Henry says, grinning as Meri smiles but shakes her head.

"Why Cardinal?" Merida asks, clearly confused.

"Because cardinals are red," Henry returns with a shrug.

"Can't you call it something else?" she asks. "Something more exciting, like Operation Dragon?"

"That's my girl," Maleficent utters, grabbing Merida's attention as she gapes at her self-proclaimed aunt.

"You, too, Auntie Mal?" Merida questions, gaping at her mentors new hairstyle. "You changed your hair, too?"

"Well, I couldn't let your mother have all the fun, now could I?" Henry watches as his mom and Maleficent communicate in a silent language he's never fully deciphered.

Merida hops down from her mother's arms to embrace her aunt while Maleficent hugs her back. There's true tenderness on her face, a look he's come to recognize in the eyes of both his moms and his grandma-the unmistakable look of a mother, a mother who loves a child.

"But your own hair's so pretty," Merida states as she draws back from Mal and gazes up at her in awe.

"And so is yours, my sweet," Mal answers. "Never let yourself feel inferior for things over which you have no control. Your hair is perfect-just the way it is."

Merida nods as she bites her lower lip, allowing Mal to cup the side of her face. She then she spots Killian a few feet away and bursts into riotous laughter.

"You look like a real pirate now," Merida states, laughing uproariously as the man makes a face of distaste in her direction.

"I'll have you know that no pirate in his right mind would ever wear his hair in such an outlandish fashion," Killian returns, wincing as Emma elbows him in the ribs. "Unless he was persuaded to do so by the most intensive form of bribery."

"And just what did Emma bribe you with?" Robin asks, tossing his own temporary locks over his shoulder.

"Why chili fries, of course," Killian answers, scooping one into his mouth as Emma rolls her eyes.

"Chili fries!"

Merida turns to her mother in a rush, her eyes begging before her mouth ever opens.

"Just for today," Regina states as a grin tugs at the corners of her mouth. "Besides, I think Granny may have some ready just for you."

Merida turns to the countertop only to spy Granny motioning her forward, the older woman's red hair making her look like a different person altogether. She races towards the food and hops onto a bar stool where she stares at the biggest plate of chili fries she's ever seen.

"Wow!" Meri exclaims just before stuffing one messy fry into her mouth. "I've never eaten this many before."

Henry slides in next to her and is handed a chocolate malt.

"Thanks, Granny," he grins.

"No problem," Granny says with a wink. "What do you think? Should I ask your mom to let me keep this hair?"

Merida giggles as Henry finds himself at a complete loss for words.

"I think it looks lovely," Marco states, coming to sit beside Henry, his own fiery curls swaying across his brow. "But not as lovely as your natural hair."

Henry stares in amazement as Granny actually blushes and hands Marco a piece of chocolate pie.

"On the house," she utters, tossing Marco a half smile before eyeing Henry and Merida directly. "Tell no one."

Henry shakes his head in wonder as Granny moseys back to the kitchen, calling out instructions to Ruby along the way. He sips his malt and turns his attention back to his little sister who is now examining her plate of fries with an expression of sheer determination.

"Help me, Henry," she says, shoving a chili covered hand bearing a couple of fries in his direction. "I can't eat all of these." He lets her feed him and immediately wipes his mouth on his sleeve, turning just in time to see Granny staring him down.

"Both of your mothers have taught you better than that," Granny states with an elaborate toss of her curls. She hands him a stack of napkins and refills Marco's coffee before sauntering off just as Leroy sits down. A mouthful of Coke spews out Meri's nose and all over the counter.

"Leroy!" she squeals, clapping her hands loudly. "You look so funny!"

The man stares daggers directly at Henry before pointing a finger at them both, his curls bouncing with the motion.

"If a picture of me like this ends up on social media, you'll see what Grumpy really means, kids." He then grabs his beer and stamps off, his red hair bouncing on top of his head.

Henry watches as Meri laughs until she's doubled over, stopping only when her face is so red it nearly matches her hair.

"What are you doing?" she asks when she's finally able to speak again. "Did you take Leroy's picture?"

"Yep," Henry answers as he pushes a button on his phone. "And I just posted it to Gran's instagram."

Merida looks in Snow's direction, her eyes widening by the second.

"How did you do that?" she questions.

"I know everybody's passwords," he answers with a shrug. "Because I set up all of their accounts for them. Besides, Gran is the one person in town Leroy loves too much to chase down with an axe."

Merida nods at his logic.

"This was the best idea ever, Henry," she gushes after shoving more fries into her mouth and wiping her cheeks with the back of her sleeve. "But why did you do all of this?"

He looks directly into those blue eyes of hers and brushes a stray curl from her forehead.

"Because I know you worry sometimes about your biological mom-about looking like her."

"Oh." Her face falls a bit, but she nods and holds his gaze.

"You don't need to, Meri," Henry adds. "You'd look as funny with black hair as we all do with yours. Besides, you don't have to look alike to be a family. Just look at all the people I'm related to around here."

She turns her head to take in everyone-Emma, Killian, Ruby and August, Marco, Archie, Little John. But her gaze stops at the table where most of the Charming clan sit.

"You don't look like mom, or like Emma," Meri observes. "Or Uncle David or even Mr. Gold." She scrunches her nose then in a way that practically mirrors their mother. "But you do look like Auntie Snow."

Henry nods, having heard the same thing many times over the past few years.

"I think I do, too," he grins. "But I'm my own person, no matter who I look like. Just like you are, Meri. You're not Zelena Mills. You're Merida Grace Locksley."

She drops the chili fry dangling in her grasp and looks at him with utmost sincerity, mulling over his words.

"You really don't think anybody cares that I look like her?"

He's shaking his head as he takes another sip of his malt.

"No," he answers. "Not anyone who matters."

She takes a deep breath before leaning her head on his shoulder, and he wraps his arm around her, trying to remember what life was like before she, Roland and Boo entered his. But then they hear stomping, followed by a commotion so loud that it makes Boo cry, and they turn to see what all of the ruckus is about, only to see Leroy's face burning fifty shades of crimson as he stares at his phone and yells out one accusatory word.

"Snow!"


	19. Operation Fairy Godmother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In fulfillment of a prompt received on tumblr for Regina to ask Emma to be Roland and Merida's godmother.

She isn't sure what she'd expected, but this lurking, lingering silence emanating from the other side of their booth isn't exactly reassuring.

"Why don't you close your mouth, Emma," Regina says, her gaze dropping from her coffee cup back to her friend. "At least until you're ready to give me an answer."

The blonde shakes her head as if pulling herself from a trance, closing her mouth deliberately before opening it again.

"You want me to be their godmother?" She picks up her glass of orange juice and drains it in one gulp. "Both of them? I'm not exactly godmother material, Regina."

"Oh please," Regina tosses back. "It's not every kid who gets to claim the Savior as a godparent."

"For a reason," Emma says, shaking her head yet again. "I mean godmothers are supposed to be wise and stable and be able to cook or something, aren't they?"

"If we'd wanted all that, we'd have asked Old Mother Hubbard," Regina replies."But we didn't. We're asking you."

She inhales, waiting for Emma to say something–anything, disappointed when she doesn't.

"So you won't do it?"

Regina hadn't truly considered the possibility that Emma would turn her down, but something begins to shrivel up inside her rib cage as she mindlessly adds another creamer to her coffee.

"I didn't say that."

Emma's words make her look back at the woman, Regina's spoon stilling inside her mug.

"Then what are you saying?" Regina questions. "Because I'm getting confused."

Emma licks her lips as she presses her palms into the table, glancing towards the ceiling before looking back at her friend.

"I'm just blown away," the blonde finally utters. "And frankly overwhelmed that you would ask me. I mean with all of our history concerning Henry."

"It's that history that prompted us to do it."

Regina's hand briefly touches Emma's arm from across the table, vanishing nearly as quickly as it had alighted.

"There was a time I wanted to kill you, Emma, to toss you out of Storybrooke and never let you back in. I didn't want to share Henry with anyone, much less his biological mother." Regina pauses, taking a sip of her coffee, grimacing at its overly milky flavor. "I felt threatened, and I wasn't being the mother that I needed to be."

"You're an amazing mother," Emma states, her tone quiet and personal. "I couldn't have asked for a better woman to have raised our son."

Regina's lips flutter upwards at this, her heart warming in ways she'd once believed to be impossible.

"We've done a good job, haven't we?"

Emma picks up her water glass, avoiding the empty cup of o.j., and raises it in Regina's direction. Their cups clink just before breakfast arrives.

"We have," Regina agrees. "Which is why I want you to be there for my other two children. There was a time I thought I didn't need anyone, when I wouldn't let anyone in to help. But now…" She pauses yet again, reaching for her own water over the pale concoction that used to be coffee. "Let's just say I want Roland and Meri to know that you're a special part of their lives, too."

She watches as Emma breathes in and out, a look of concentration stretching across her face as she picks up her fork.

"Then I'm in," Emma says before cutting into her pancakes, grinning as Regina finally relaxes back into her seat. "Let Operation Fairy Godmother begin."


	20. Full Circle

She should have listened to her parents. She knows that now.

They'd seemed so wise when she was little, infallible, all-powerful, the leaders of her perfect family within the perfect walls of her perfect house. Her childhood had been filled with bear hugs and hot cider, with bedtime stories, piano lessons, and family dinners around the table. But then she'd heard things-things about her, about a woman named Zelena, inferences about bad blood, black magic and something called rape, and she'd started to withdraw from her once perfect world into a place where nobody could touch her, where she couldn't be hurt.

Her parents reached out continually, as did Henry and Roland, and at times they'd cut through the veils of self-protection she'd started to weave and her life would feel light again, almost magical. She'd experience that magic when she played with Neal or practiced archery in the back yard with Roland and her dad. But then someone would break the Locksley spell, as she'd come to think of it, with a biting remark or accusatory stare.

_Bad Blood. Black Magic. Spawn._

Words hurt far worse than either sticks or stones, she quickly learned, and the scars they left went far deeper than those etched into skin. The best defense is a good offense, Roland had told her after football practice one day, and she started processing the meaning of his words as she began to grow breasts and experience a woman's cycle.

As a child, she'd been taunted. As a woman, she'd be untouchable. She'd see to that.

Her mother was first to recognize the signs and reached in deep, touching the heart of the little girl she'd raised with the warnings of one who'd travelled paths she'd never wish on her children.

_You're not her. You're your own person. Don't make the same mistakes I made. Don't give into hate._

Her dad spoke with logic, his words always gentle yet seasoned with a truth she shied away from, unwilling to bear the stings of disapproval from the outside world any longer.

_You're my daughter, too. My blood is also in your veins. Never forget that love is a choice-that parenting is a choice. Listen to your real mother. Pay no mind to the words of the small-minded._

But the small-minded were persistent, and so her walls grew thicker until she'd blocked out everyone who loved her, who truly knew her, who stood resolutely beside her even as she began to destroy herself.

"Don't go," Neal had begged her as she gazed over the town line. "The people who love you are here."

She'd been blind to the passionate depth of his words as she stood gazing into the lure of the unknown, her eighteen year old self ready to throw off the judgement that had been cast towards her because of the woman who'd given her life.

"I have to," she'd breathed, somehow missing the pain that had crossed over his features. "I have to get away from her shadow, and I can't do that here, Neal, regardless of what my mom and dad say."

"What about what I say?" he'd asked. "Doesn't that make any difference? You're not in this alone, you know."

If only she'd believed him.

She left two days later, sneaking out before dawn. And she entered a hell far darker than any black magic could ever construe.

The world without magic wasn't kind to those with no money, education or family, and although her red hair and tone figure earned her plenty of stares and double-edged compliments, they also put her in a danger she had never truly understood. Jobs fell through, minimum wage was a bitch and as she slept on the cot of a homeless shelter under a blanket that smelled of starch, she wept into her cardboard like pillow, remembering a very different bed with soft quilts and sheets that smelled of lavender.

_I miss you, Mom. I miss you Dad._

Yet to go back now would mean failure. And she couldn't admit defeat.

Then he showed up, all good looks and practiced charm, and his bed was far warmer than the one she frequented in the shelter. His hands made her feel good for the first time in months, and his mouth told her things she believed, even if the tongue that spoke them was forked.

_You're gorgeous, baby. Lie down and let me fuck you again. God, you feel so good._

Rain didn't touch her in his apartment, even if the space reeked of smoke and bore the stench of marijuana. The freeze of winter didn't sting, even if his hands sometimes did, and her belly remained full though her soul seemed to empty by the hour as nice words were replaced by insults and tender touches became rough.

_Lie down, bitch. You live with me, you do what I tell you. Don't give me any lip._

She didn't recognize herself in the mirror, her hair shorter, her frame thinner, the dark circles under her eyes reminiscent of those she'd seen on women in the shelter. How had she gotten here, she wondered as she touched the purple bruise under her eye? How is it that cruelty knows no borders and that loneliness can be found when someone is balls deep inside you, kissing you hard even when your lip is bleeding, crying out in pleasure when you want to weep in shame?

She'd gazed hollow-eyed at the pills she'd taken from the bathroom after he'd gone, feeling their texture as she poured them into her palm. Would these truly end her pain? Was this the only way out for her, a pathetic death in a pathetic apartment, a lifetime away from the only people who'd ever seen her for who she truly was?

_We love you, no matter what. You're our baby girl-you always will be. Never doubt your place in our family. Never forget that you are loved._

But she had forgotten. And it had nearly killed her. She wept until her body was dry and pills slid out of her fist onto the dirty carpet.

A bus ticket was purchased with money she took from his sock drawer, money that mysteriously appeared whenever he needed it, money that made her feel dirty even as she stuffed it into her jeans pocket. But she was resolute as she walked towards the bus station and sat down on a bench in the darkness, curling into herself as strangers walked by, hoping beyond hope she'd be welcomed when she finally arrived where she was going.

She was going home. It was past time to admit defeat.

She rode until the line ran out and walked the rest of the distance, somehow knowing the way by heart as she ate beef jerky and spent one night on a park bench. Then it was before her, a town line she sensed rather than saw, and she tried to swallow, her throat as parched as her soul.

The familiar feel of magic pulsed over her as she crossed back into the world into which she'd been born, and she breathed in the air, the cleanest air she'd smelled since she'd left nearly two years ago. Her skin prickled as a breeze lifted the hair from her neck, and she nearly crumbled there in the forest, the forest where her father had taught her to shoot an arrow and where she and Neal had constructed a secret fort. She wondered if it was still there, hidden among trees and bushes, the creation of innocent hands that still viewed the world through a lens of possibility.

The need to find it was overwhelming, so she cut through brush to a secluded area she'd once believed she and her best friend had discovered, a place where nobody could find them, a place of shelter when the world began to bare its teeth and the only person whose company she could tolerate was the boy who never judged her.

There it was, covered over by vines and fallen leaves, smelling of earth and forest, the scent of safety, the scent of her dad. She crawled under the boards and canvas she and Neal had constructed with care, and there she sat on the dirt and moss, seeking courage in the familiar haunts of another life. How beautiful this realm now seemed to her, how unimportant the opinions of small-minded peers. This was home, a home she'd taken for granted, a home she'd cast aside for the promise of a world that had nearly broken her.

But she wasn't broken, even though she bore scars, the sort of scars her mother had spoken of when they'd had hearts to hearts in her bedroom. She was a Mills woman, a Locksley child. She couldn't give up, wouldn't wallow in the murk of bad choices, it wasn't in her blood. She was going home, even if the thought of facing her parents terrified her.

Each step was measured, each breath felt as she made her way to her house-her home, the safe haven she'd taken for granted and had given up in a rush of youthful rebellion. How much older she felt now, her body aching from the after-effects of emotional and physical abuse, but she kept moving, step by step, mile by mile until she stood gazing up at a porch she knew by heart.

Her knees nearly buckled, and her palms nearly stuck together, but she breathed in and took another step, the sound of her pulse nearly deafening as she reached the stairs.

One, two, three...she counted them as she ascended, not pausing to wonder if her parents would even be home until she stood directly in front of the door, a door she stared at as if it were foreign even though she'd flung it open more times than she could remember. It seemed bigger now than it had when she was five, and she raised her fist, breathing in as she knocked, one two three.

Her fingers brushed the door's surface, feeling cold even though she was sweating everywhere else. There was no going back now.

She waited to hear movement, to receive some signal that somebody was home, but as seconds ticked past she faltered. Her chest hurt as she turned to leave, stopped in her tracks by the sound of a door opening and the voice of her father.

"Thank God."

His arms were around her before she could think, and then she was hugging him back with everything she had, feeling his tears drip into her hair as whispered _I love you's_ engulfed her from the outside in. Then another set of arms wrapped around them, and she smelled the familiar scent of her mother. Her own tears broke free as the three of them fell to their knees in a sobbing heap, unwilling to let each other go as the love that was family refastened together what she thought had been broken.

_I'm so sorry._

She repeated the words until her mother's fingers pressed over her lips.

_No more apologies. You're home. That's all that matters._

She only wished that were true.

They remained in a heap on the porch until their knees ached, and she sobbed all over again at the scent of apples and coffee wafting over her as they entered the house Why in God's name had she ever left? Where would she be now if she'd stayed?

Her little sister fell into her arms when she arrived home later that day, a girl who'd become a young woman during the years she'd been away. Her brothers arrived as soon as they were told of her reappearance, and for a few hours she was the girl she'd been before she'd walked away from the family she'd taken for granted. Roland teased her about her hair, Henry rubbed her shoulders, and her father couldn't stop looking at her. When had his beard gotten so gray, she wondered? And why did her mother keep staring at her as if she could see what she was so desperately trying to keep hidden?

Because she sees. She's always seen and understood more than anyone else.

A hot shower and clean sheets seemed like the greatest of luxuries, and she'd slept harder than she had in months, not waking until the sun shone brightly through the curtains, taking its place in the center of the sky as she finally crawled out of bed. She stared at herself in the mirror yet again, grimacing at the creature looking back at her. The child she'd been no longer existed, yet she couldn't remain the lost girl she was now. It was time to try to bring the two together.

If only she knew how.

She was thankful that her parents kept visitors at bay, admitting only one in to see her, one she dreaded facing but longed to see all the same. Neal stood motionless when she walked down the steps, his eyes as kind as she remembered them, his form more solid and mature. When he said her name, her heart shattered yet again, and she allowed him to hug her, allowed herself to hug him back even though it was hard to look him in the eye.

"I've missed you," he whispered, and she squeezed him even tighter.

"I've missed you, too," she breathed. She'd nearly forgotten how gentle a man's embrace could be.

Telling her parents about her life outside Storybrooke hurt worse than she'd anticipated, and she avoided their eyes as she explained how she'd gotten the scar on her lip, the one that almost exactly matched her mother's. She'd never seen her father so angry, and she later heard him state that he would find the man who did this and kill him with his bare hands.

Of course her mother talked him down, told him the man would receive his own comeuppance, that villains always faced consequences for their actions, that evil never went unpunished. Then she'd watched from the shadows as her parents fell into each other, sobbing over the pain she'd experienced in the world without magic, feeling acutely the pain she'd brought into their lives.

Would her existence bring anything but pain to those she loved?

"When are you going to tell me everything?"

Her mother's touch lingered on her arm as she tucked her in bed that night as if she were still a child. Her gaze fell again, but her mom cupped her chin, encouraging her to face what she'd been hiding, what she suspected her mother already knew.

"I'm pregnant."

Silence. A squeeze to her shoulder. A nod without judgement.

"That's what I thought."

They both exhaled into the room.

"What are you planning to do?"

It was a question she'd been avoiding but knew she couldn't any longer, and her hand found her stomach, still flat and seemingly barren of life. She thought of Henry, of Emma, of Zelena and her own father. But she mostly thought of her mom-the woman now gazing down at her, the woman she'd feared could never love her as much as she did her three siblings but had consistently proven her wrong.

"I want to have the baby."

Her mom nodded, sitting down beside her on the bed and taking her hand. Her hands were even softer now, as if time had chosen to be kind to her after all these years.

"I thought you would," she stated with a small smile. "So did your father."

She sat up at that, blood rushing into her head at the thought of what her father must think of her.

"He knows?" A wordless nod was her answer. She fell back into her pillow, wishing she could disappear back behind walls that had nearly suffocated her in the first place. "Is he upset?"

"He loves you," her mother replied. "And he's so happy you're home. We'll figure out the rest of it as we go, alright?"

"We?"

The words tumbled over quivering lips and were met by tears pooling in dark eyes.

"You're not alone anymore, sweetheart," her mother said. "We'll take care of you and this baby. We're family. It's what we do."

She melted into her mother's arms, feeling safe, loved, and utterly terrified.

Babies don't remain hidden for long, and her body began to transform as her soul began to patch itself back together. Her father began building a crib fit for a Locksley, one with clean lines and soft edges crafted from cedar cut by hand.

But fear was a constant companion, one that wrapped her within its grasp and nearly choked her with the uncertainties of motherhood and the looming presence of the unknown.

"Was it hard to love me?"

Her mother faced her directly, putting down the dish towel as she walked towards the table.

"Love has its hardships. I'd be lying if I said that motherhood is an easy task."

"That's not what I mean, Mom."

Her mother sat down next to her, laying her hand on top of her own.

"You mean because of how you were conceived?"

Shame filled her completely, stealing her breath, pulling up tears as she tried to swallow.

"You're afraid you won't be able to love your baby because of how her father treated you?"

She nodded, unable to stop the tidal wave of tears that began to trickle down her cheeks. Familiar arms moved around her as a voice spoke directly to what she feared.

"I was afraid of the same thing. But the moment I saw you, all swaddled in pink and tucked into your father's arms, all those fears went away. I knew you were his, and because I loved him so much, it was easy to love you."

"I was never a reminder to you or him? Of how she violated him? Of how she tried to destroy your lives?"

She felt her mother shaking her head.

"No," she answered. "Zelena was the reminder. You were an innocent baby, the one good thing to come out of a horrific situation."

Her grip bore into her mother's arm, and they held each other close for what seemed like hours.

"I want to love my baby."

The words felt strange on her tongue, like wisps of a lovely dream being held back by unseen shackles.

"Then you will," her mother stated. "And I suspect you already do. Love is always a choice, you know."

She wasn't sure if she knew that yet or not.

Neal and David helped her father and siblings put the nursery together, and she couldn't help but smile at the cheerful forest theme that would suit a child of either gender. Neal stood by her when the others went downstairs for some lunch, and his arm went around her shoulder as it had so many times in her life.

"What do you think?"

She gazed from the mural of forest creatures on the wall to the fake tree her father created from a DIY tutorial.

"It's perfect," she answered, her hand resting on the now pronounced swell of her stomach. She laughed as a kick met her palm and answered Neal's question before he could ask by taking his hand and laying it on her belly.

His eyes rounded as a small foot made connection with his hand, and he laughed, an open, almost breathless sound that made the floor sway beneath her. Then their eyes connected, and her mind went blank.

The way he looked at her made her unsteady, the feelings his gaze stirred both warm and terrifying. It felt good letting him touch her like this, as if he were the father of this baby, as if she hadn't screwed up her life with a loser who never cared about her. Could Neal love her, she wondered? Could he see past her mistakes and into the woman she so longed to be?

She backed up then, afraid of becoming too accustomed to his care, afraid of forming an attachment that could never be. Neal deserved better. Loving her brought only pain.

Another sort of pain ripped through her when contractions began two weeks early, and she begged for an epidural, certain she'd never survive labor, wondering how in God's name women through the centuries had undergone such a herculean task. But her labor was progressing too quickly for the aid of painkillers, and she made it through with her mom as her coach, squeezing her hand and cursing her own life until something warm finally slid out of her womb.

Her daughter. Her daughter with a head full of black hair-a daughter who looked just like him.

But she didn't care as the baby was laid upon her chest, as she counted toes and fingers and felt a part of herself she'd never known come alive. His image faded as her mother's took its place in brand new olive-hued skin and thick, black hair that stood straight up. She felt only awe at the reality that this life had lived inside of her until just seconds ago, that she was now a mother, that she had a baby girl, that something so wondrous could have come out of her time in hell.

"I'm so proud of you, sweetheart," her mother breathed, kissing her daughter's forehead before touching her granddaughter's cheek. "She's beautiful."

"She looks like you."

"Ironic, isn't it?" her mother stated, and they laughed together for what felt like the first time in a century. Something inside of her broke free.

Nights weren't easy with a child who slept fitfully and had difficulty latching on to nurse. Over tears and frustration, her mother helped her switch to formula, and she wondered why she ever fought the notion when both she and the baby began to sleep again. She named the baby Rowena as a nod to her parents, but Roland could not contain his delight in the similarity of their names, and the child quickly became known as Baby Ro, in spite of her sister's lament that yet another Locksley girl was being given a one-syllable nickname.

The baby flourished in the arms of her grandparents, uncles and aunt, had more babysitters than she ever needed, and was quickly getting spoiled by being constantly held and cuddled. Yet there were moments in life's mayhem that inadequacy would rear its ugly head, and she would wonder just what in God's name she'd been thinking to have a baby when she so often still felt like a child.

She lived at home. She had no job. And her child had no father.

Neal visited frequently, and it annoyed her somewhat that he could soothe Ro more readily than she could at times. But his voice was soft, his manner so gentle-so like his father's, and she saw in his eye the tenderness of a dad.

"He's a good man," her father stated one afternoon just after Neal left. His tone was even, but the implications of his words cut through.

"Stop it, dad. I know what you're doing."

He denied nothing but rather turned to face her, taking the baby from her arms as Ro extended her reach towards her grandpa.

"He cares about you," her father stated. "A great deal."

She was shaking her head, unable to entertain what she knew could break her if she were allowed to hold it but then forced to give it up.

"What if he can't love Ro the way she needs him to? She's not his baby, you know."

The eyes that gazed back at her creased.

"You weren't your mother's," he said, her heart catching at his words. "Did that stop her from loving you with every fiber of her being?"

She bolted out the front door.

Her feet carried her into the forest, down paths created by her sneakers, through passages she knew by heart. Her breasts ached, her lungs were crying, but if she slowed down, she would want things, and to want things was dangerous, especially when what she wanted was the heart of a man who'd been her best friend through life.

He deserved better than what she could give him, as fractured and scarred as she was inside. She'd tasted darkness, had lived in its clutches, had eaten from its table and sipped its bitter wine. Neal was good-so good, too good for her, too pure, too untouched. One day he'd realize that and wonder what he'd ever seen in her, and she'd lose him. But it would be a monumental loss, for she would not only lose love but also her best friend, and she needed him-God, how she needed him.

She was the biological child of a wicked witch, conceived to hurt her parents, destined to bring pain. It would be better for everyone if she just accepted her life for what it was. She had a good home, parents who loved her, siblings she adored and a child who both drained her of energy and filled her heart to the brim. She was no longer alone-she was home, sheltered, loved. She'd find a job, she'd get a place of her own, her life would bloom and grow right here in Storybrooke with just her and her daughter.

She shouldn't want more, shouldn't entertain the notion of a man like Neal loving her the same way her father loved her mother. Love might be strength, but it could also wound, and she'd been wounded enough in her life. God only knew she'd wounded the people who dared to love her.

The fort was just ahead, and she plowed towards it with what strength she had left, crouching over her legs to catch her breath as sobs finally broke loose from her body. She felt the first droplets of rain, and she raised up to greet them, allowing them to dot her face and wash over her skin. Her arms wrapped around herself and she cried into the forest, allowing bitter pain to pour out in tidal waves of pent-up denial.

Then there were other arms around her, ones she knew, ones that held her against a solid chest, ones she knew would hold her until she told him to stop.

He breathed her name into her ear, and she leaned back into him, accepting what she so desperately wanted even as logic told her to run. If she truly loved him, she should push him away for his own sake. Loving her was poison. Loving her would hurt him in the long run.

But he turned her towards him then and brought her into his chest, and she couldn't let go of him, neither her heart nor her body would let her. Her life poured into his shirt as they were baptized together in a mixture of water and tears, and they held each other as the rain continued to pour, as clothes were soaked and hair was plastered onto skin.

"I love you," he breathed, and she held him even tighter as part of her soul passed into his keeping. "I always have."

"Then you're an idiot," she whispered, and he laughed, his chuckle vibrating through his chest into her body. He drew back then and cupped her chin, stroking her face with his thumb as he sought permission to kiss her.

She didn't tell him no. In fact, she kissed him back as something broke free inside of her and sang a melody she somehow already knew. Harmonies were added as time moved forward, dissonances giving way to legato cadences in both major and minor keys as their lives intertwined in every way possible. Soon a symphony of living accompanied their every step, each note fitting together even if sometimes they clashed.

He loved her. She loved him. Everything else would work itself out.

And it did. Somehow, it did.

For it's now two in the morning as she pads down the hall of their loft apartment, her body tired after putting their son back into his crib. He's a ginger, just like her, and it astonishes her just how much this pleases her, how perfect the orange fuzz of his hair feels against her cheek, how it soothes rather than burns, how it brings hope rather than self-doubt. There's so much love in every inch of their home, a home given to them by Neal's parents when they bought a one-story house just down the block, and it somehow pulses in every room, years of hope and honesty etched into paint and wood, acceptance and grace billowing through curtains and into their lives.

She stops just short of her bed and looks at the pair of them cuddled up together, father and daughter-Ro and Neal. He loves her as much as he loves the son he'd put in her belly, and Ro thinks her Daddy hung the sun, moon and stars just for her. Dark curls splay over his fair chest, and she sees it here-her own life-her conception and birth, the promises whispered over her by her parents, the power in choosing love over fear.

She picks up her phone as her heart nearly brims over, and she pads into the kitchen, pressing the number on speed-dial, holding her breath to see which parent answers.

_Hello._

It's her mother. She smiles all over.

_Is everything alright?_

"Yes," she answers. "We're fine. We're all fine. It's just…" She pauses, swallowing back emotions billowing inside her like waves. "I get it, Mom. I understand now, how you love me, how dad loves me, how things I worried about forever never really mattered."

She hears a muted sound on the other end of the line and wipes away a tear as her mom mumbles something to her dad.

_I'm so glad sweetheart. I'm just sorry it took you so long._

"That's not your fault," she insists. "But I get it now. And maybe it's like dad always says-maybe it's all about timing."

She can tell he's listening in on the other end as he clears his throat.

_We love you, baby_ , her mother states, her father muttering _Always_ from his side of the bed. Another tear breaks free, and she looks back at her husband and daughter, feeling the need to lie down beside them and hold them as close as she can.

"I love you, too," she whispers before ending the call and sliding back into her bed, into her life, into the menagerie that is her family, into the world she now calls home.


	21. Blueberry Pancakes

"Okay. Time to add the blueberries."

His assistant reached a chubby hand into the bowl of freshly washed fruit and scooped up a fistful of berries before cautiously scattering them into the pancake batter he'd just ladled into the pan.

"Like that, Poppo?" Rowena asked, aiming those eager brown eyes right at him. He tousled the four year-olds sleep-messed black curls with a smile before picking up the spatula.

"Exactly like that, Ro," Robin replied. "I have a feeling these are going to be the best pancakes I've ever had."

His granddaughter giggled before staring down at her handiwork from her perch on the safety stool, beaming with pride just the way her mother had done at this age when she'd been his pancake sous chef.

He and Regina had kept the grandbabies overnight last night, something they offered to do on a semi-regular basis so Merida and Neal could occasionally sneak in a night out together, not exactly an easy feat for the parents of two young children. Ro adored sleeping in her mother's old room, but Archer wasn't so fond of the crib they'd installed for him in Roland's former quarters, and had ended up sleeping on top of Regina's chest for most of the night. The pair of them were still stretched out on the oversized recliner he'd purchased years ago, much to his wife's chagrin, snoring in time with one another.

He really should snap a picture of them. Maybe later. There were pancakes to attend to at the moment.

The spatula worked it's flipping magic, and Ro clapped as Robin grabbed up a wooden spoon in his left hand and stirred the blueberry compote he'd left to simmer on the back burner.

"When do we make the whipped cream, Poppo?" Ro asked, setting a sticky palm on his cheek.

"After we finish the pancakes," he answered. "Whipped cream doesn't take long, but the mixer does make a bit of noise."

"Can I be the taster?" Ro asked, biting her lower lip in a way that reminded him so much of Regina.

"Of course," Robin replied, touching the tip of her nose. "I couldn't ask for a better taster than you."

Ro giggled as he slid three pancakes off of the skillet before adding batter for three more. She dutifully added the berries, just the way her grandpa had taught her, beaming at his resulting praise.

"Something smells good enough to eat."

Her voice washed over him like a clear mountain spring, the way it always had, ever since the day of their first meeting in the Enchanted Forest.

"Good morning, Love," he replied, turning to smile at his wife and their youngest grandchild. Archer's thumb was in his mouth, his red hair sticking up every which way as he held tightly to his grandmother's chest. "Somebody still looks half-asleep."

"Make that two somebodies," Regina returned, walking to the coffee pot and pouring herself a cup of dark roast. "I didn't really sleep all that well."

He assumed that her back would be bothering her later today, so he'd offer a massage and a no frills dinner of spaghetti and wine, one of the few dishes he'd perfected over the years.

"Maybe you can catch a nap after the kids leave," he mused before flipping the pancakes. "We don't have anything on the agenda for today, do we?"

"Not a thing, thank God," Regina replied before taking a sip of her coffee and walking over to give both him and her granddaughter kisses.

"Hey, buddy," Robin said, rubbing his grandson's head. "How's my boy this morning."

The one year old didn't answer, choosing to suck on his thumb a little harder, instead.

"I think he's cutting a tooth," Regina stated, reaching back to take another sip from her mug. "It would have been nice if Merida and Neal had mentioned that fact when they dropped the kids off."

Robin chuckled, and rubbed the top of his head.

"They might have been worried we'd have changed our minds about keeping him," he stated with a shrug. His wife gave him an unamused stare.

"Granna-look!" Ro exclaimed, pointing to the skillet. "Look at our pancakes. They're gonna be yummy."

Regina couldn't help but smile as she leaned down and rubbed noses with her granddaughter.

"I'm sure they will," Regina returned. "You know how much I love blueberry pancakes."

"I know," Ro replied with a grin that looked just like her mother's.

"Why don't you go sit down with Archer, and Ro and I will serve you breakfast?" Robin suggested, smiling as his wife rubbed a finger down his bare arm.

"That sounds lovely," Regina returned, managing to balance her grandson in one arm and her coffee in the other. The fact that she was so magical without using her magic made him love her all the more.

He and Ro cooked a final round of pancakes before making the whipped cream and toting their creations to the table. Regina _ooo'd_ and _ahhh'd_ much to Ro's delight, and Archer turned and faced the table from his grandmother's lap with a grin that melted Robin's heart.

"Here, Archer," Robin said once his hands were free. "Let me put you in your highchair so we can get you some pancakes."

The boy reached for his granddad, laughing as Robin tossed him up in the air once for good measure.

"You're going to throw your back out doing that," Regina warned, earning herself a look of reprimand as he settled Archer into his highchair.

"I'm not that old," he retorted. "And I do stay fit, you know."

"Oh, I know," she hummed, tossing him the best wink she could muster. "Believe me, I appreciate your level of fitness. I just don't want you to end up laid out on the couch like David was a few weeks ago when he was playing horse and chariot with these two."

"I'm smarter than David is," Robin whispered as he took his seat, making certain Ro was all secure in her booster. "You can't tell your grandpapa that I said that, alright?"

Ro placed a finger over her lips and nodded.

"That's my girl," Robin replied, kissing the girl's forehead before they all dug into breakfast. He paused at one point, staring at his wife as she cut up Archer's pancake into bite-sized pieces he could pick up with his fingers.

"What?" Regina asked, tucking a strand of gray behind one ear.

"Nothing," he replied, taking a sip of his coffee. "I was just thinking about how lucky I am."

The corner of her lip turned upwards.

"Damn straight you are," she hummed under her breath, knowing Merida would reprimand her for her language if she were here.

He chuckled and took another bite.

"Years ago," he continued. "When you showed up on my doorstep in New York, when I had to tell you that Zelena was pregnant…" He paused, taking another drink, knowing he had her full attention. "Well, let's just say I never dreamed our lives would turn out like this."

He gazed back and forth between Meri's two children, two perfect little humans who wouldn't have existed had he and Regina not been put through hell and back by Zelena. He'd do it all again for his daughter and his grandbabies without a second thought, and he knew without a doubt that Regina would, too.

"Neither did I," she confessed. "But I'm glad that they did. Always means always, you know."

"Yeah," he replied, letting Ro feed him an overly-generous bite of pancakes and fruit. "I do."

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Regina instructed, shooting him a teasing look.

"That's right, Poppo," Ro added on. "Chew your food first. Then talk."

"Yes, ma'am," Robin returned, wiping his mouth with his napkin. "Your wish is my command."

He took another bite, chewed and swallowed. "You know, once Amelia and Henry finally have their twins, we'll have as many grandchildren as we have children."

Regina's fork stopped halfway to her mouth.

"You sound pleased by this," she said, turning to reprimand Archer for tossing a piece of his pancake to the floor.

"I am," he said. "Aren't you?"

"Very much so," she admitted. "But it does make me feel old."

He chuckled and reached out for her hand from across the table.

"Nothing wrong with growing older," he stated. "Especially since I get to do it with you."

She squeezed his hand then and blinked a few times.

God, he was a lucky bastard, a mere thief who'd been given a second chance at love with a queen of all people, a father who'd raised four children, none of whom shared the same biology. His stepson was happily married and lived just a few houses down, Roland had his own apartment just across town and was now his equal partner in their landscaping business, Meri and Neal lived in the Charming's old loft, and Boo-God, he missed his youngest daughter, but she was off studying at MIT of all places, that young genius of theirs who'd inherited both her mother's blinding intelligence and relentless drive. Now there were grandchildren, babies who owned his heart in a manner reserved just for them and added a measure of joy to his life he'd never anticipated until they'd arrived.

"Together," Regina breathed, smiling as he stood and leaned over to press a kiss to her knuckles, loving her even more with everyday that passed.

"Together," he replied, smiling at his granddaughter who'd raised her hand in his direction, fully expecting for him to kiss it, as well. He did so with flourish, making her giggle before she scooped her finger into the whipped cream and dotted it onto his nose.

Yes. Life had been good to him. Far better than he deserved.


End file.
